


the only fight that's left in me (is the only one worth fighting)

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU - modern universe, M/M, Past Abuse, R plus L equals J, Ramsay is his own warning, bare-knuckle-fighting, it gets pretty bloody later, lots of funny fighting aliases, please make sure to read all notes, the Lannisters are cats, trying not to be too sappy (I failed), weird amalgamations of show and book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-14 01:05:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 47,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: After Theon gets into a pub brawl he's taken in by a quiet stranger with three crazy cats, an interesting family and a mysterious past.All things considered it wouldn't be so bad if he weren't on the run from his uncles - and himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no idea how I came up with a bare-knuckle-fighting AU. I haven't even seen Fight Club ever. I've seen Snatch and borrowed a bit from One-Punch-Mickey, but that's about it. So basically I know shit about it. 
> 
> For the rest of this I took inspirations from the mangas Zetsuai/Bronze and Furuba 
> 
> I'm nearly done writing this and while patience may be a virtue, it's not a virtue I possess. 
> 
> Oh yes: The chapters are very short but I'll update frequently^^

The pavement is wet where he lands, between a trash bag and a puddle that’s been used as an ashtray by smoking pub goers. Whatever, he decides, he’ll stay where he is, down in the dirt, mud mingling with blood.

It’s cool on his overheated skin, and fitting somehow. Mud, trash, blood. Father would be proud, he thinks, then grins, his cheek scraping against the rough tarmac. It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters. Father is gone, dead, dust, worm food, not here anymore to be proud, or disappointed. Always disappointed, never proud, not at Theon. And what for?

For his endless nights out, the holidays he’d bummed off so-called friends, the drunken fighting, or fucking, often both. His name constantly in the tabloid papers, a leech feeding off the rich and famous, usually accompanied by an expressive pic.

His mother would have died of shame, if she hadn’t died a long time ago, before Theon could have sent her to an early grave with his lifestyle. She’s been dead for seventeen years now, water under the bridges.

Theon doesn’t think of her often, because it makes him feel sick, and weak, and helpless. Not exactly feelings he likes to deal with if he can help it.

Now he thinks of her, his ruined face in the dirt, his body not willing to pick itself up. How she would perch by his side when he fell down, how she would pull him back to his feet, kissing any scrape he’d gotten.

Not when father was present obviously. Then she was forced to watch him trying to get up by himself while father spat insults at him. Theon could always see that she wanted to help him, but never dared.

She had been weak. Never able to stand up to her oppressing husband. Not even for Theon. Maybe he’s inherited it from her, his proneness for being weak the moment he lets control slip through his fingers.

Another thing he can blame her for. He already blames her for lots of things, most of all for dying and leaving him with two dead brothers, a grief-struck father and that void where before was the only person who ever loved him.

Except Asha maybe, but that’s only a guess. He’d thought she might like him when they’d gotten older, but before he could be sure of that she was gone, hiring on some freighter.

He hasn’t seen her since then, some thirteen years ago. Every now and then she sends a postcard to father, always ending with greetings to Theon.

It’s pure chance when he sees them though, since father has never even once thought Theon might want to read them too. And now he won’t read one ever again, because he’s not going back there.

It’s been uncle Vic who’s told him, of father’s death and uncle Euron’s return. He’s asked Theon to come in so they can talk about the enterprise, about what to do with Balon’s legacy.

A dozen newspapers, magazines, news shows and whatnot. An empire of which Balon had been king. Except for that one time when he’d pissed off the North’s most beloved and famous politician.

Eddard Stark had sued Balon Greyjoy into the ground and won spectacularly. Theon had been somewhere around Essos at the time, sending his father a video with drunk condolences that nearly had Balon cut off his allowances.

He’s getting colder by the second and it has started raining again, drenching his already damp clothes. Maybe, he thinks, maybe it’ll wash the mud off his face if he manages to turn.

It takes all the energy he’s got left, but finally he’s on his back, smiling at his triumph. Smiling aches, he figures his lip is split and if he’d reach into his mouth he may find one or two cuts from where he’s bitten himself.

Not that it matters. He won’t have his pic in the rags anymore, not when he’s to be the new man behind the rags. If his uncles really intend to hand him the reigns on a silver plate, something he’s somehow dubious about. He doesn’t want them anyway. Anything but responsibility.

The rain is threatening to drown him, but sitting up proves to be too big a challenge. Instead he lets his head loll to the side. The small movement is enough to make his stomach churn and it’s good his head is to the side or he’d choke on his vomit.

Awareness starts to fade out, his body doesn’t ache anymore, it’s numb and so, so cold. Every other moment his vision blurs, maybe the blood loss, or the cold getting too much at last.

“Fuck.”

He tries to see where the voice has come from, but he can’t focus. Dimly, a face swims into his vision, but it’s impossible to pinpoint any details. Except for a pair of worried dark eyes, before his mind goes blank and he sees nothing but black.


	2. Chapter 2

Voices are drifting into his sleep, if he’s even sleeping. Maybe he’s dead. Would being dead hurt so much?

“Really, killer. Another stray? This one will make more trouble than all the others together.”

There’s some sort of muffled response before Theon dives under again. He drifts in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he’s aware of someone prodding at him and shifting him around.

Sometimes a cup is pressed to his lips and he drinks greedily, he feels like burning up, but it’s more like a dream than reality. Whoever it is, they don’t talk to him.

The next time he wakes up he manages to open his eyes, and finds a pair of green eyes staring back. Quickly Theon closes his own eyes again. Maybe it’s a demon, coming for his soul.

Something rough is dragged across his chin, again and again. There’s an almighty crashing sound somewhere and a husky voice starts shouting.

“TYRION!!! Get off of him! His ribs! And the last thing we need is for him to get an infection because of your bacteria-riddled mouth!”

When he feels a soft but still painful pressure on his chest Theon dares to open his eyes again. A big striped cat is sitting on his chest and is watching him through huge green eyes. Its pink tongue is poking out of its mouth.

Someone comes over and suddenly the cat is swooped up and carried away. Theon squints at that someone’s back. A guy, black turtleneck sweater. He’s still talking to the cat.

“I know you want to help but I’d rather you go and play with your siblings.”

The cat meows as it is sat down, followed by a hiss from another source. How many cats are there? Theon wonders. He tries to sit up and pain shoots through his whole body. He groans, loud.

“You’re awake. Stay down.”

It’s the same eyes Theon thought he’d seen back on the street, and in his feverish dreams. Dark and worried. They belong to a man, frowning down at him with a strange expression. Theon makes to get up again and the guy pushes his shoulders down, gentle but firm.

“I said, stay!”

The last word carries enough authority that Theon gives up, recognizing the tone immediately. Only one type of people talks like that.

“You a doctor?” he manages to croak. His throat hurts too.

The guy shakes his head, then expertly grabs a pillow from somewhere and with ease he moves a hand under Theon’s back and lifts him up to slide the pillow beneath him. From his more upright position Theon has a better view of the place he’s at.

A room with spartan furnishing, not much besides the bed he’s lying on. Theon lets his eyes wander. No curtains, just closed blinds, no pictures, no decorations. He finally looks at the guy.

He’s still frowning, his mouth pulled down, his brows tightly knit together. He’s got his dark hair strictly tied back. Now he huffs.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Theon tries a grin which makes his lip smart awfully. “Hey, could you tell me what went down? I fear my memory is not too reliable.”

The frown deepens.

“Someone’s bashed your face in.”

“My face?” Theon tries not to sound too worried. “What’s with it?”

“Well, your nose was broken, your lip is split - I wouldn’t smile like that for a while - and you bit your tongue, but that’s nearly healed already. A cut on your forehead, but I stitched that up. All in all nothing unfixable.”

His nose… and the stitches… Theon decides not to ask, but he’s horrified. His looks have always been important to him, and his face is the best part of him. As of yet. He coughs, then whines at the stab of pain searing through his torso.

“And you are?”

“Jon. Snow. You’ve caught a cold on top of that, but I wouldn’t cough if I were you. Two cracked ribs. They didn’t like you too much, whoever did that.”

“No idea who that even was. Thanks, man. For picking me up. If you could call me a cab…”

Theon trails off when he realises he’s got no idea where to go. Home? Where’s that? Balon’s house with his uncles lying in wait? His own flat is out of the question as well, they’ll find him there way too easy.

Of course there’s one place he could go, where he would be welcome. Sort of. But he’d rather deal with all his uncles at once than go _there_ and have it all start over again.

“Hungry?”

Jon’s voice breaks through his thoughts, completely ignoring the cab thing. As if on cue Theon’s stomach growls and he laughs before he can think better of it. Ouch.

“I guess that’s a yes,” he says. “What’s on the menu?”

“Soup,” is the curt answer before Jon leaves without looking at Theon again.

While he’s gone and Theon ponders his options, the cat comes back. It leaps on the bed and settles in his lap. Carefully Theon starts stroking its soft fur and is rewarded with a deep purr.

The motion calms his mind and he decides to just lay back - literally - and wait what’s coming. In that moment it’s Jon, a tray in his hands. He places it on the bedside table and frowns at Theon expectantly.

“Are you not going to feed me, doc?” Theon smirks. Jon’s frown only deepens.

“I said I’m not a doctor.” Jon holds out a steaming bowl and a spoon. “Eat.”

Again that authoritative tone, and Theon takes both, tries a mouthful. Chicken soup, nothing fancy but he’s so hungry he’d eat anything. Jon watches him, which is a bit unnerving. When he’s done, Theon gives the bowl back.

“Then what? A nurse?”

Jon looks aside and his cheeks redden slightly. Bingo, Theon thinks. Apparently a sore spot. It’s not like Theon could pass on such an opportunity.

“I’m disappointed, I always thought nurses wear those sexy short white dress things. Hey,” he pauses for a second. Strange he hasn’t wondered about that before. “Why did you bring me here and not in a hospital?”

Now there’s a look of faint disdain on Jon’s face.

“Thought you’d like to keep it discrete. And not have your smushed face all over your father’s rags.”

Oh. _Oh_.

Theon lets his head sink back. His hand glides down his bandaged chest and to his - he’s naked. That guy has seen - all of it. The realisation brings on another thought and he squirms.

“Hey, man. I… uh…” This is awkward. “I need to take a piss.”

Jon gives him a disinterested look.

“I guess I can take you there, now that you’re awake. Slow. You were out for two days.”

He bends down and steadies Theon while pulling him up agonizingly slow. After a moment of dizziness Theon thinks he can make it and nods. The toilet is just next door and Jon waits outside.

When Theon’s finished - at least he could do that alone, he’s cringing a lot at the thought of how that went while he was out - Jon takes him back. By the time he’s in bed again, Theon’s drenched in sweat, feeling queasy.

Jon looks worried again and carefully places the back of his hand just below Theon’s throat. Then he nods.

“You’re running a temperature again. Sleep.”

Theon’s eyes are already closed. The last thing he’s aware of is a blanket being dragged up to his chin. Then the heaviness of sleep drags him under.

Theon dreams, of _her_. He’s surprised, even in dream. He hadn’t thought of her for years. A decade, maybe. But now he dreams of her as if they’d met yesterday.

He’s ten years old again, hearing the loud wails and shouts outside. Daddy isn’t home so he can go and have a look. Two houses down the street he sees her.

She’s cornered against a fence by the two Blacktyde brothers. She looks very small and frightened but she’s shouting insults at them that make Theon’s ears go red.

One of the boys grabs her sweater and tears and Theon starts at them without thinking. He hits one of them before they know what’s happening.

At first they clearly mean to punch his face off but when they recognize him they grudgingly leave. Not because they’re afraid of Theon, but they do know his daddy. And fear him.

Once they’re out of sight Theon turns to the little girl. Her eyes have stopped glittering with rage and she looks at him in awe. She can’t be more than five. Her sweater has a large rip at the hem.

Theon studies her for a moment, then nods toward his house. Without hesitation the girl gets up and follows him. He takes her to his mommy’s room. Mommy’s out with Daddy and Ron and Asha. Rod is out with some friends.

He tells the girl to take her sweater off and patches it with Mommy’s sewing kit. He shouldn’t know how to do it, one of Daddy’s rules is that a boy should never do women’s things, but Mommy has taught Theon anyways.

The girl watches him with her huge brown eyes. When he gives the sweater back she whispers a thank you. Then she bursts into tears. Theon is at a loss. Finally the girl speaks.

“Lost my aunt.”

“Okay,” Theon says, “I’ll help you. But you need to stop crying.”

That only causes a fresh burst of tears which makes Theon feel really helpless. He looks around and then his gaze falls on his wrist. He quickly ties the band off and holds it out to the girl. She sniffs, but stops crying.

“Do you want it? I’ve made it from leather thongs and a seashell. I have found it myself on holiday.”

The girl nods, her curls flying around her head, and Theon ties the band around her small wrist. For the first time she smiles and Theon thinks, she’s pretty.

He smiles and gets a tissue and lets her blow her nose. Then he takes her hand and they go to the police station two blocks over. Theon tells the officers that she’s lost her aunt and then it’s time to say goodbye.

“Thank you,” the girl whispers, and smiles, and Theon thinks, I’m in love.

He’s never seen her again after that day, but he thought of her often. One day, he thought, he was going to find her and marry her. When he got older he thought of her less often, and by the time he started to really be interested in girls he completely forgot about her.

But now he dreams of her, and when he wakes up he has trouble to remember where he is - and how old - for a moment. Theon touches his face and his hand comes away wet. He’s cried in his sleep.

The door opens and Theon hastily rubs at his eyes, then peers up at Jon. Who’s holding something looking suspiciously like a syringe. Theon feels himself go pale.

“What - what do you intend to do with that?”

He can’t quite keep the stammer out of his voice and Jon raises an eyebrow.

“Antibiotics. Turn on your side.”

“What?”

“Fastest way to get them to work. Now come on. I’ve seen your arse more often than you, given how frequently you shove it in some reporter’s face.”

Theon curses himself but doesn’t want to look like a wuss, so he turns over. His ass has been in the tabloids a lot, true. But not what’s beneath.

A low grumble follows, a hand on his butt and a sharp sting, but before he can complain a wad of cotton drenched in something is pressed against the spot and he’s covered up again.

“Good boy,” he hears Jon mutter before he’s alone again. _I really hope_ , he thinks before letting his eyes fall shut again, _I wasn’t just drugged by some freak._

Whatever it was it seems to have worked. Theon wakes up feeling a lot better. He even manages to take another trip to the toilet again. When he gets back there’s a cat in his bed. Not the one from before, another one, smaller and with golden fur.

It hisses at Theon and for a moment he’s not sure how to proceed when a shout in his back nearly gives him a heart attack.

“Cersei, stop it! You know very well you’re not allowed on the bed and the rules don’t change if someone else is sleeping there!”

The cat looks unimpressed, it gracefully lifts one hind leg and starts - Theon giggles. Lucky cats and their flexing abilities.

Behind him Jon curses and goes to shoo the cat away. It hisses again before hopping off and leaving. Theon looks after it, then at Jon who’s studying him with a sour expression.

“You look better. Want to go home?”

Theon hesitates before sitting on the bed.

“To be honest I’d rather not. There’s… problems. At home.”

Jon surprises him again.

“Your family, huh? Big inheritance dispute?”

Theon is baffled.

“How do you know that?”

“Easy,” Jon shrugs. “It’s all over the news. Your uncles are searching for you?”

“I guess.” Theon sighs. “To ‘talk’ to me. But I know what their talking entails.”

“Euron’s back?”

Theon flinches so hard his ribs hurt like hell.

“How do you know about Euron???”

Again, Jon just shrugs.

“Everyone knows The Reaver.” He gives Theon a strange glance. “Wouldn’t want to be in his way either.”

The Reaver. Euron’s fighting name. But what does a young man - a nurse - know of that other world? Theon is on the brink of asking when Jon speaks.

“You can stay. Until you thought of something. I have to take the stitches out in a week anyways. Just… try not to fuck anything up here, yeah? I have to go to work. Stay away from my things. There’s food in the kitchen. Painkillers too.”

With that he’s gone, a door falls shut and Theon’s alone. He gets to work immediately.


	3. Chapter 3

First things first, Theon thinks, and goes for the bedside table drawer. A lot of different medications and bandages and stuff. Beneath that - Theon grins at the bottle of lube before putting it back. Good brand, too.

He gets up slowly and waits for a moment. No dizziness now so he walks over to the dresser. To his surprise and dismay the upper drawer is locked, but he finds boxers and tees in the other ones.

He has no idea where his clothes are, so he borrows some of them. The boxers fit well enough, but the tee he picked, a faded band shirt, is hanging loosely from his torso. Still, it’ll have to do.

With some clothes covering him up again Theon feels fortified enough to snoop through the rest of the flat. Not that there’s much to snoop.

There’s the toilet, a little closet full of jeans and jumpers and scrubs, a bathroom Theon decides to ignore for now, and a kitchen that also appears to be the living room. On the couch there’s a heap of blankets and a pillow.

For a moment Theon feels bad. This Jon is apparently sleeping on the couch while Theon’s occupying his bed, but then he shrugs. He didn’t ask him to, not his problem.

On the kitchen counter there’s a box of painkillers and a post-it. ‘ _Not more than one!’_ Theon takes two. His head has started throbbing and his ribs are hurting and his face - better not think about his face.

He opens the fridge and grins. Two giant sandwiches are waiting for him. He ignores the post-it on the beer cans saying ‘ _Don’t touch that!_ ’ and takes one and the sandwiches to the couch.

Then he hunts around for the remote. He finds it underneath the pillow and switches the TV on. Sports channel. Theon zaps through the channels until he settles on some mind numbingly boring animal docu.

When he’s finished the sandwich and the beer Theon feels drowsy. Maybe the beer and pills haven’t been a good idea after all, he thinks. Instead of getting back to bed he decides to stay where he is.

The pillow is cool and smells nice, something fruity, lemony. In seconds Theon is out cold, his sleep dreamless this time.

He’s woken by the door slamming shut and someone barging in. That someone starts talking - not Jon’s voice.

“Hey, lazy pants! I’ve got THE news! The Reaver’s back, he’s been in the club yesterday. I haven’t seen him but Warhammer has. Dad is totally freaking out, I think he really itches to come back now. Just imagine, Ice and The Reaver fighting again!”

Theon tries to keep as still as possible. This is highly interesting. The guy is now rummaging through the fridge with much clamour, all the while talking.

“I’m really tempted to challenge him myself, and I KNOW I’m not up to his level, but it’d be fun. You could take him, Jon. Don’t you want to? Come on, I know it's still in there somewhere.”

Theon thinks he must’ve misheard. Jon? Nurse Jon could take _Euron_??

“I’m still all envious that you got the cool name while I’m stuck with Strawberry. Still better than Baby Ice I suppose. Hey, what’s up, are you sick?”

Theon sits up, the blankets falling from his shoulders. And gets the shock of his life.

“Robb Stark.”

The tall, red-haired man has frozen, his face white as a sheet. Theon knows him, knows him well from dozens of articles his father had published. Robb Stark, the perfect eldest son of Ned Stark. Politics student, no blemishes, the golden child.

Apparently the bare-knuckle-fighter with the name Strawberry. The most dangerous - and highly illegal - sport in Westeros. Of course Theon knows him, has seen him fight a dozen times. Robb Stark!

“Oh shit,” Robb Stark says before slumping down on the floor.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, neither daring to say a word. Theon tries to process what he’s heard. Eddard Stark, the great, righteous Ned Stark - fighting legend Ice. The only one who ever beat The Fist of the Morning.

And Jon is - was, judging from Stark’s words - a fighter too. Where the hell has he gotten himself into?

Their staring contest is interrupted by Jon’s return. He looks tired but when he sees Robb on the floor and Theon on the couch he very abruptly comes to live.

“Robb? What the fuck..?”

Robb gets up hastily.

“Jon, I fucked up big time.”

He drags him into the hallway and there’s a lot of hushed whisper until Jon starts yelling.

“THIS IS BALON FUCKING GREYJOY’S SON YOU INCREDIBLE OAF!!!”

Stunned silence, then more whispering, until there’s a heavy sigh.

“I’ll leave you to it. Do what you have to do. I’m sorry, Jon.”

The door opens and closes. Theon swallows dryly. He’s in trouble. When Jon comes in again his face is hard. He takes a chair from the kitchen table and drags it opposite the couch.

He sits down and leans forward, arms on his knees. And for a man shorter than Theon, clad in a fluffy sweater and jeans, his hair tied in a ridiculous bun, he looks frighteningly intimidating.

“You heard some interesting news today.”

His voice is calm and dark, and Theon can’t repress a shiver.

“About my uncle and my cousin.”

Uncle? Cousin? Theon’s head is reeling but he hastens to say something.

“I did, I did. But hey, I don’t want my father’s empire, okay? Besides, you took me in and helped me and you think I’ll rat you and your family out? I wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t you.” Jon doesn’t seem convinced at all. “Well - until I can be sure of that I fear you’ll have to stay here.”

That’s better than Theon thought. He’d intended to stay for some more days anyway. But how can he make Jon trust him? For now it seems better to just nod. Still, Theon is curious.

“Your cousin - he said you were one of them too. What was your name? Why did you stop? You’re still young enough - twenty-five?”

“Twenty-four. And my name is none of your business. That time is long past.”

Jon sighs and gets up.

“I’m going to take a shower. You should get back to bed, the couch is no good for your ribs. I’ll come to check on you later.”

Theon looks after him as he retreats to the bathroom. Now that he knows it’s kind of obvious. The firm body under the sweater, the way he holds himself, the way he walks - _I should’ve known_ , Theon thinks. After all, he’s lived with one of them for quite a while.

The water has started running and Theon slowly gets up, taking the painkillers with him. Back in the bedroom he stops. There’s three cats on his bed. The big, striped one, tongue poking out. The golden one is being groomed by a larger cat, white with one golden paw.

Theon decides not to take any chances. The golden one is looking at him with an expression Theon doesn’t like at all. Maybe Jon can help. Theon opens the door to the bathroom and for a moment the steam blinds him.

When he can see again his mouth falls open. Jon has his back to him, he’s naked - and gorgeous. Lean, toned, with a dragon tattoo winding over his back up to his neck, his wet, dark hair starting to curl.

Theon knows him. Has admired him even, a lot. A shiver goes through him at the thought, how close he is to The Black Dread. The best bare-knuckle-fighter there ever was. The only son of the Dragon.

“Oh fuck me,” he whispers, but it’s loud enough.

Jon turns around, an expression of horror on his face. Theon’s eyes drop to his chest, still as enticing as it had been back then. Ramsay had always thought it hilarious, Theon’s infatuation with The Black Dread, back then.

And now Theon is here in his bathroom, so close he could touch if he’d just reach out… Jon makes a distressed noise and moves a step back.

“What are you doing?”

“Admiring the sight. The Black Dread - I can’t believe it. You are - why on earth did you stop?”

“If you know me you know what I am and what I did.”

Theon lets his hand sink back. He tries to think of what has happened but he can’t remember. Only that The Black Dread was suddenly gone. He hadn’t asked Ramsay, of course not. Theon looks to the side.

His gaze falls on the mirror and it’s fogged, but not enough to conceal the horror that’s his face. For a moment Theon just stares, then, with a faint noise, he feels his knees giving out.

When he comes to again he’s in the - cat-free - bed. _Fuck_. Theon sits up quickly, giving himself a headrush. He’s fainted like an anaemic damsel in distress. Jon must think he’s the biggest pussy on earth.

Speaking of Jon… Unbidden but not unwelcome the thoughts of his naked body flood back into Theon’s mind. He remembers dreaming of him some years back, not Jon but his alter ego.

In his dreams he’d traced the lines of the dragon with his fingertips, with his lips. Had all that raw power beneath him, all his to do with as he pleased. Had rode him fast and hard, in control, for once.

And then he would wake up to Ramsay, and no control whatsoever.

Theon groans. Of course, the day he’s finally in reach of those dreams he looks like shit and behaves like a delicate little girl.

When Jon comes a while later - firmly covered up again, hair tied back - Theon can’t help an annoyed sigh.

“I really wish you’d never seen me like this. I used to look good, you know?”

Jon doesn’t answer, he silently removes the patch from Theon’s forehead, prodding at the tender skin.

“Looks better,” he murmurs, more to himself. “No need to cover it up again.”

Theon studies the focused face above him. How often he’s wondered what The Black Dread might look from close up - and not covered in blood. He’s not disappointed.

Brown eyes with thick lashes, chiseled face under dark stubble and that mouth… Theon only realises he’s staring when Jon coughs, clearly uncomfortable. To his embarrassment Theon notices his hand has moved on its own will, touching Jon’s hair.

“Why do you tie it back?”

“Curls,” is the short answer.

Theon remembers the short buzz cut The Black Dread had sported in the ring. Now he understands. Hair like that, very recognizable. Still, the curls aren’t exactly improving Theon’s predicament. He’s been partial to them since he’s been a kid.

“They look good.”

“Stop it.”

Jon has moved back, his frown so deep Theon wonders if he’s even able to smile anymore. He wonders what it’d take to find out. Maybe…

“Really a shame,” Theon remarks innocently. “What with my face looking like that you’ll never want to suck my dick.”

Definitely the wrong tactic. For a second it seems as if Jon’s going to punch him, his hands balled into fists. He makes a visible effort to calm himself, breathes in and out slowly.

“I know how you normally look. Stop the caterwauling over your damn face, okay? It’ll be fine.”

No mention of the other thing, so Theon tries to push it a bit. He makes his voice sound as hurt as possible.

“Does that mean you wouldn’t want to suck my dick even if I’m pretty again?”

“I didn’t say that - fuck, would you stop?”

Jon’s cheeks have flushed an interesting shade of red and Theon smiles, satisfied with himself. Not so indifferent then. Maybe he’ll get to him once he’s not looking like a zombie anymore.

For now he relaxes back into the pillows and looks back at Jon.

“Jokes aside,” he says, earnest. “Thank you for everything.”

For a moment Jon looks bewildered at the sudden change in attitude, then he shrugs.

“It’s nothing.”

He turns to leave, but hesitates in the door.

“I have to go to work early tomorrow. Since I don’t know if I can trust you, I’ll have a friend babysit you. Behave.”

Theon rolls his eyes. _Behave, he says. We’ll see._


	4. Chapter 4

“Wake up, mushface. Your babysitter’s here!”

The cheery voice interrupts Theon’s not very nice dreams, of a knife in the dark, so he’s not exactly mad to be woken like this. Still, mushface?

He squints at the guy standing at the foot of the bed. Fuck, Theon thinks, more a bodyguard than a babysitter. The guy’s built like a brickhouse. He’s wearing a muscle shirt and Theon looks at the tattoo on his left arm. Recognition hits.

“Warhammer.”

“Gendry, actually,” Gendry grins. “But if it turns you on you can call me Warhammer, I don’t mind.”

Theon snorts at that. Not that Gendry’s not good-looking, he absolutely is - it’s just that Theon’s a bit biased at the moment.

“Come on, mushface. Let’s get some food into you or Jon will kill me.”

“Theon. Actually,” Theon remarks dryly.

But he’s hungry so he follows Gendry to the kitchen. He watches him fish a box out of the fridge and study the note on it.

“Chicken Teriyaki, brilliant! Jon’s an amazing cook. Wouldn’t think that, huh? I bet you only got soup and turkey sandwiches so far, I know the deal.”

“Why?” Theon asks, curious. “Has he picked you up and nursed you back to health after a fight too?”

Gendry shoves the container in the microwave, then turns around.

“What, you don’t know? I thought your uncle is The Reaver - and haven’t I seen you with Skinner a couple of times? Some years ago?”

Theon shudders at Ramsay’s fighting name. Not something he wants to think about now. Or ever.

“Just tell me, okay?”

Gendry waits for the microwave to beep, then shovels the food onto two plates which he carries to the couch. Theon follows and picks up his fork, looking at Gendry expectantly. He’s already halfway through his plate.

“Well, Jon and I were fighting. I knew he’s better, lighter and quicker, but I still thought I could get him. Thick head I have, thank the gods.”

He swallows another mouthful.

“Oh, this is so good! Where was I? Ah, yes. You know what The Black Dread was famous for? Exactly, one punch and his opponent went down. Anyways, he hit me at an unlucky spot and cracked my thick skull.”

Gendry forks the last bits off the plate.

“If I weren’t in company I’d lick the plate clean, ha! So, there I was with my poor cracked skull, bang, like a walnut, and Jon was so sorry you wouldn’t believe it.”

Gendry goes to get himself a beer, bringing a glass of water for Theon.

“Eat for fuck’s sake or I will! Scared him to death, poor boy. When I got out of the hospital I wasn’t so well and I was living alone and still had trouble seeing straight and such, and Jon insisted I move in with him until I’m a hundred percent fit again.”

Theon slowly brings a forkful to his mouth. It’s really good. Gendry is eyeing his plate with a sigh.

“Seriously, I don’t know how long I can stop myself. After that Jon got afraid. Not of the fighting per se, more of himself and what he was capable of. He’s never been to the ring again, but he still comes to cheer on me and Straw.”

Theon sets his fork down. Somehow he’s not hungry anymore.

“How long did you stay here?”

“Oh, a little over a year. I mean, the cooking is fantastic and so is Jon.”

Gendry fucking winks at Theon while angling for his plate.

“Don’t tell him, yeah? And you might want to eat something later, he’ll know if you don’t, he always does. Hey, you okay there?”

“So you were…?”

“Kinda. Nothing serious, Jon’s not the type for serious. I mean, I guess he is, when his _prince_ comes along. Don’t tell him I said that, it’s kinda sweet in a way, but a damn waste if you ask me.”

Theon can only nod noncommittally. That’s… good news in a way? It means Jon’s not opposed to a casual fling, which is exactly Theon’s thing. Plus, he’s into guys, which helps too. He watches Gendry as he puts the plates in the sink. Then he looks around.

“Where are my kitty-cats?”

At his shout two of the cats round the corner, the striped one meowing loudly. Gendry slumps down and the two cats are in his lap immediately, the white one rubbing its back under Gendry’s chin with a loud purr.

“Yes, you’re my pretty-kitty-darling-boy. Where’s your sister? Sulking under the bed since I came in I suppose?”

He looks up at Theon, grinning.

“Jaime and Tyrion are my boys, but Cersei… that little beast doesn’t like me at all. Bit me so hard she drew blood once, little bitch. She likes no one, not even Jon. Very ungrateful, he’s the one who rescued the three of them when they were kittens. Fished them out of a trash can. People are assholes. Yes, you’re my sweet little baby,” he coos at the striped cat. Then he suddenly narrows his eyes at Theon.

“You’re not planning on giving them any trouble, the Starks, yeah?”

Theon shakes his head. This guy somehow manages to look threatening and kitten-smitten at the same time.

“I won’t. Jon’s helped me and he’s… well. I always was a fan, kind of. It’s hard to wrap my head around it anyways. Ned Stark and Ice being the same person. Robb Stark, perfection on two legs, being Strawberry. That’s…. surreal.”

Gendry’s relaxed again, apparently believing Theon.

“I know - mad, isn’t it? You’d never guess. Also about Jon. Speaking of whom - he’ll be back in two hours, do you mind if I take a nap? You can watch TV if you like, I don’t mind.”

“Actually,” Theon starts, it’s overdue, really. “I’d like to take a shower. Do you think I can?”

“Well,” Gendry studies Theon’s face. “This looks pretty good to me. I officially give you the go-ahead. Wait, I’ll get you some towels.”

He gets to his feet and vanishes. He’s back a second later with two large, fluffy towels. He clearly knows his way around the flat. Theon’s not sure how to feel about that. Indifferent, at best. He takes the towels and locks himself into the bathroom, carefully avoiding to look in the mirror. He uses the shower gel that’s sitting on a little shelf inside the cabin. It smells like lemons, fresh and somehow sweet.

After he’s done toweling himself off he heads back to the living area, hearing loud snoring. To his surprise it’s the striped cat who’s snoring, not Gendry. The two cats and he are snuggled together on the couch, looking for all the world like they do that every day. Theon decides to go back to the bedroom. This looks way too cozy for his liking.

He carefully lies down - his ribs still hurt - and stares at the ceiling. Suddenly there’s a soft traipsing sound and the bed dips a little at his feet. He glances down. Cersei - the golden cat - is sitting at his feet, looking like she’s contemplating if she’d like to eat his toes. Theon pulls his feet under the blanket. He’ll take no chances with this one.

He could’ve sworn Cersei rolls her eyes before gracefully settling down. Her ears are flat and she stares at him with the most hateful glare he’s ever seen a cat give, but she doesn’t hiss or try to bite him. At the moment. He falls asleep with her warm weight against his legs.

  
“I thought I told you to watch him, not snooze the day away.”

The accusing tone has Theon on his feet with lightning speed. He peers out of the room, then carefully rounds the corner to spie on them. Gendry has his hand loosely on Jon’s neck, the gesture seems rather intimate.

“Hey, calm down, killer. I don’t think he’s a threat, okay? I believe he has a thing for you, got all jealous when he caught on that we were an item before.”

Theon watches Jon blush.

“Stop that, Gen. You know who he is, yes? He has more notches on his bedpost than you can count. And besides…”

“Yes, I know,” Gendry mumbles, rolling his eyes. “You’re still waiting for the one. What if he never shows up, Jon? Then you’ve wasted your whole life waiting for nothing. I say, go and do it. A little diversion won’t hurt you. And he’s pretty hot, huh? Even with mushface. Or,” he leans forward and kisses Jon lightly on the lips, “we could take a tumble, eh?”

Theon holds his breath, but Jon shoves Gendry’s shoulder. He’s not frowning so much now, though. He looks nearly relaxed.

“Stop it or I’ll tell Pod, okay?”

Gendry laughs, ruffling Jon’s hair.

“You wouldn’t dare. Speaking of him, I’ll better get going though. Think about it, killer.”

Theon decides this is the ideal moment to inconspicuously walk into the living room. They both look at him in surprise, Gendry grinning, Jon blushing.

“Hey Jon,” Theon says, yawning ostentatiously. “That chicken teriyaki was amazing.” He catches a wink from Gendry, who then boxes Theon’s arm lightly.

“I’m off. You have a nice evening, boys. Killer, I’ll call you!”

The door slams shut behind him and Jon sighs.

“Don’t think I’m fooled for a second. He ate your food, right? Nevermind,” he shakes his head. “I’ll make you something else.”

He looks tired, and suddenly Theon is overcome with the urge to do something nice. As a thank you for all Jon’s done.

“Hey, where’s my stuff at?”

“Your clothes are in the trash.” Jon frowns. “Your wallet should be on the bedside table, isn’t it?”

“To be honest, I haven’t looked,” Theon shrugs. “Wait, I’ll go check.”

He finds his wallet, not on the bedside table, but behind. Everything still in it. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Cersei the cat watching him with eagle-eyes. Unnerving, really. Theon walks back into the living area where Jon is at the fridge, studying its content. He turns around.

“Found it? Good. Anything particular? I could grill you a steak?”

Theon shakes his head.

“What are you eating?”

“Not much,” Jon says, repressing a yawn. “I ate in the cafeteria at work.”

“A sandwich?” Theon narrows his eyes.

“Yeah. What of it?”

Jon’s voice sounds defiant now and Theon grins.

“How about a nice pizza? My treat.”

It doesn’t take too long to convince Jon of that plan and soon they’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, munching on a huge pizza. The TV is on, some boring historical movie, but Theon isn’t really watching it anyway. Every other second he glances over at Jon, wondering how to start a conversation. It’s Jon who speaks first though.

“So. You and Gendry got along?”

“Yes, he’s a nice guy. Apart from calling me mushface,” Theon adds, miffed.

Jon’s lips quirk up at that, nearly a smile.

“That’s Gen. Don’t take him serious.” He looks over, still with that faint smile on his face. “It’s not as bad as you think, really. You look… handsomely rakish.”

Theon smiles at that and their eyes meet, and suddenly the air seems heavier than before. Theon can feel goosebumps prickling over his body, breathing is more of an effort now. Jon looks away first, biting his lip. He’s not smiling anymore. Theon sighs.

“Jon.”

Jon doesn’t look up.

“Go to bed now, you still need to recover. I’m having the early shift the whole week. Can I trust you not to leave or do anything stupid while I’m gone? Or do I have to call Gendry again?”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” Theon promises. He gets up. “Good night.”

Lying in bed a while later Theon can hear Jon rummaging around in the kitchen for a long while. It’s past midnight when the sounds finally stop. When Theon wakes up Jon is gone, but there’s a new container of food for him in the fridge. The note reads, ‘ _4 mins microwave_ ’. It’s some kind of honey chicken with rice and it’s delicious, even for breakfast.

After eating and another shower Theon decides to go snooping again. In one of the kitchen drawers, among the knives, he finds a little key. Could that be - he immediately marches into the bedroom to try it out. And it fits. Theon opens the drawer carefully, trying not to disturb the order of the things inside.

There’s a folder with pics and articles of Ice, Strawberry, The Black Dread, all of them. There’s even one pic of Skinner, and Theon shudders. He quickly puts the folder back. Apart from this there’s a framed photo of Jon and Gendry which Theon studies for a long while. Jon is smiling in it, he looks happier than anytime Theon has seen him so far.

When the urge to throw the photo on the ground and stomp on it gets too much, Theon puts it back and continues his search. He comes up with a big wooden box, it looks like one of those kids make in school. It’s clumsily painted in bright colours, like a very cheery treasure trove. Theon opens it.

He watches in slow-motion as the box sails to the floor, the bright yellow fabric spilling out. Theon crouches down, ignoring the stab in his ribs, and slowly pulls it aside. There, on Jon The Black Dread Snow’s bedroom floor lies a tiny leather wristband with a seashell, only big enough for a child. A little girl, maybe.

Or a little boy with overlong curly hair and big brown eyes. 


	5. Chapter 5

Theon feels as if he’s been hit by a bus. This can’t be true. This changes nothing, his mind screams. This changes everything, another voice whispers. After all those years he’s found ‘her’ again - now, when his life is on the brink of dissolving, when all he wants is to shag his celeb-crush - who turns out to be his first love.

Nonsense, he tells himself. He was ten years old, that was just stupid childish air-built castles before he’d known the world, or himself. _One day I’ll find her and marry her and then I can always protect her_ , he’d told his mother when she’d come home that day, and she had smiled. Not even one year later his brothers were dead, his mother was dead and his father had lost his mind.

Carefully Theon puts the little yellow sweater back in the box, covering the wristband with it. He closes the lid and places the box back in the drawer, locking it again. It’s remarkable, to think Jon has kept it all those years. For a moment Theon wonders. If he’d had something of ‘her’, would he have kept it? Probably not.

He watches TV for the rest of the day. When Jon comes home in the early afternoon Theon just mumbles a greeting and holes himself up in the bedroom. All he can think of is the content of the drawer and it drives him mad, being in the same room with it. Again it’s past midnight when the sounds from the kitchen finally stop, but Theon still can’t sleep.

There’s an easy solution to his problems. He’ll have to do what he can to get Jon into bed with him. They’ll shag a couple of times and Theon will get bored of him, like he always does. And then he’ll leave and they’ll live their lives just like before and Theon won’t think of him, or ‘her’ ever again. Yes, that’s what he’ll do.

According to his new brilliant plan Theon waits for Jon on the couch the next afternoon. He’s ordered some food and has even tried to comb his hair and shave, despite the yellowish bruises on his chin and cheekbones. All in all it could be worse, he thinks.

Jon seems surprised but appreciative when he comes home to all this. They eat in silence, until Theon’s finished and smiles at Jon as nicely as he can.

“How was your day?”

“Okay,” Jon says, frowning. “Yours?”  
“Boring,” Theon sighs exaggeratedly. “I don’t have much to do around here. Mostly I was waiting for you.”

Jon blushes at that. When he makes to take the plates away, Theon stops him.

“Let me. You look tired.”

Jon leans back, baffled. Theon scrubs the plates and puts them aside to dry. Then he wanders to the couch, patting the space beside him. Slowly Jon comes over. He looks at Theon, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. And if I weren’t so knackered I’d shake that idea from your silly head.” He yawns. “Fortunately for you I’m really tired.”

Jon sits down and leans back, his eyes falling shut immediately. Theon watches him with a frown. He knows he doesn’t look his best at the moment, but that seems a bit much resistance. He thinks about going for it anyway but Jon’s drowsy voice stops him.

“Don’t even think of it. I’ll bite if I have to.”

So Theon sits beside him, feeling the warmth of Jon’s body along his, not daring to look over in fear he’ll lose it. When the movie is over Theon thinks of going to bed, but has a better idea. He gets up, shaking Jon’s shoulder.

“Hey. Time to go to bed. I think I’m fine with the couch now, okay?”

Jon stirs, opens his eyes.

“Bed sounds heavenly to be honest. But you can’t sleep on the couch for at least another week.” He rubs his eyes.

“Then why don’t you come to bed with me?” Theon asks, layering his voice with a seductive tone. “I swear I’ll behave.” Once he has him there it’s only a matter of time.

Jon shrugs. “I guess. Fuck, I’m too tired to say no to that.”

They sleep back to back - at least Jon sleeps, Theon’s more dozing than anything. He dimly registers Jon getting up at stupid o’clock. Drawers are being opened and shut and Theon blinks at Jon’s dark silhouette getting dressed. To his surprise he comes over and Theon quickly squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe as calmly as he can.

This nearly gets impossible when he feels Jon’s hand stroke back the hair from his forehead. For a moment he’s confused - until Jon traces the cut there with a soft touch. Theon keeps his eyes closed and lets Jon examine his face. A low chuckle startles him.

“I know you’re awake. You’re breathing so heavy you sound like a steam train. I’ll take the stitches out when I’m back, alright? Have a good day.”

The rest of the day flies past astonishingly quick, which is probably due to Theon’s fear of what’s to come. When Jon comes home - way too early, Theon thinks, - he’s sitting on the couch, trembling all over. Fuck, why is he such a wuss when it comes to these things? Jon rolls his eyes when he notices the state Theon’s in.

“Come on. Are you a man or a mouse? It’ll be over before you know it.”

That’s most likely a lie, Theon thinks, knowing how doctors tend to lie in your face all the time. Yes, Mr. Greyjoy, it’s going to be perfectly fine, just like before. No, there won’t be any scars. Literally my ass, Theon thinks, before he’s thoroughly distracted by Jon and some really nasty looking tweezers.

Still, he finds one minute later, he has absolutely no space in his mind for worrying about them, for Jon’s face is so close to his he can feel his breath. It’s dizzying, and Theon forgets the twinging and tweaking on his forehead as he stares at Jon’s lips, so fucking close, so fucking kissable. He doesn’t dare to move.

Finally Jon is done and for a moment he stays close, smiling a tiny smile. It has Theon’s heart racing.

“Good boy,” Jon whispers and Theon groans, leaning forward that tiny bit that’s necessary. For a fleeting second their lips nearly touch, before Jon pulls back and looks at him with a frown, the smile vanished. He gets up. Theon does the same so he’s towering over Jon. Jon looks up at him, not in the least intimidated.

“You really have to stop that.”

“What?” Theon asks and leans down, brushing Jon’s cheek with his lips. Fuck subtlety. “That?”

“That,” Jon confirms, though he can’t hide the shiver running through him.

“Or that?” Theon places his hand on the small of Jon’s back, pulling him a fraction closer.

“Yes… no…. that…” Jon’s voice sounds strained.

“Surely not that?” Theon asks with his mouth still at Jon’s ear, pressing their bodies tightly together. He can feel a telling hardness in Jon’s pants and wants to howl in triumph.

Jon doesn’t answer, his breath is coming in bursts, his eyes are closed and his face flushed. Slowly his hands have carefully wandered over Theon’s ribs up to his shoulders. Theon can already taste victory, he lowers his mouth to Jon’s, not touching yet, just hovering close enough to breathe the same air. His free hand caresses Jon’s neck, pulls at the hair tie until it comes loose, buries his fingers in the flood of curls.

Jon makes a strange noise deep in his throat and suddenly Theon is pushed away with force, Jon is staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes, his breath still ragged.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he manages, leaving Theon alone, wanting and confused.


	6. Chapter 6

Gendry’s back the next morning, lounging on the couch with one cat in his lap and one hanging around his shoulders like a furry scarf. He greets Theon with an enthusiastic hello. Theon blinks at him in confusion.

“Why are you here again?”

“Jon said you’re bored,” Gendry explains. “I brought some videos of old fights, we can watch them if you like. Ice and The Fist of the Morning, one of the best things I’ve ever seen.”

They do watch the videos, some showing Euron too. Gendry happily chats away, commenting on this or that or cheering at a particularly nasty punch.

The last video is one of Jon’s fights. Theon remembers fights like that, when he was hovering in the background, eyes fixed on the man in the ring.

His uncle had taken him often when he was a teenager and desperate to escape his father and the heavy air at home. That’s where he’d met Ramsay, alias Skinner.

Not the best fighter, but notorious for his dirty tricks, always just inside of the few rules. He wasn’t allowed to use his beloved knife in the ring - but who needs a knife if you have such skilled fingers?

“Has Jon ever fought Skinner?” Theon hears himself ask.

Gendry shakes his head.

“Not that I know of. Completely different level, and Skinner’s too smart to challenge The Black Dread. I fought him once. I can only say, ouch!”

He proceeds to lift his shirt, showing Theon a long nasty scar along his side.

“That’s where he got me before I knocked him out, the pig. Sorry,” he adds sheepishly, “I know you’re friends or something like that.”

“Hardly,” Theon snorts with as much disdain as he can muster. “That’s a long time ago. We were… an item… shortly before The Black Dread stopped fighting, for a little over a year. Worst mistake of my life, I assure you.”

Gendry nods, apparently absentminded. His next question comes as a surprise.

“And now you’re after Jon? Are you collecting fighters? I’m a little hurt you didn’t hit on me too if that’s the case.”

He grins and Theon has to smile. What an easygoing guy. No wonder Jon likes him.

“Actually I thought I never want to have anything to do with the fighting scene ever again. But Jon - The Black Dread - I had a crush on him since seeing him for the first time, embarrassing as it is. Anyways,” Theon sighs, “no need to worry, mate. He doesn’t want me.”

“Ha,” Gendry chortles, “you think? Between the two of us - a nice shag would really do him some good. Don’t you ever dare telling him I told you, you know, my poor skull, but - there’s that spot, just behind his ear. He’ll go nuts if you kiss or stroke him there.”

Theon has no idea what kind of face he’s making, but Gendry seems to find it hilarious.

“Too much? I could write you a manual, How to make Jon scream, but maybe you’d rather find the rest out for yourself.”

He winks lasciviously and Theon can’t help but chuckle.

“Thanks, man,” he grins. “You’re awfully keen on setting up your ex for some mindless sex.”

“Mindless? I don’t think so.” Gendry looks smug at these words, but then his face grows serious. “Really, I love Jon very much and I’d hate to see him waste his life waiting for something that’ll never happen.”

That reminds Theon of their last conversation on that particular topic.

“You said he’s waiting for… a _prince_ or something? What’s that mean?”

“That’s something Jon should tell you himself,” Gendry says, still serious. “It’s very personal.”

“More personal than the spot that has him screaming?” Theon asks dryly, and Gendry laughs.

“Touché!” Suddenly he shouts at the top of his lungs. “JAIME!!!! Get off of your sister for fuck’s sake!!”

He throws a pillow and Theon hears a wail and a hiss.

“Damn the little pervert. I wonder if he even knows he’s been neutered.”

That’s the last thing Theon needs to collapse in a laughing fit, all the tension of the last days dissolving. For a moment Gendry looks confused, but soon he’s chuckling too, infected by Theon’s laughter.

That’s how Jon finds them, giggling their heads off about nothing at all. He regards them with a dour expression.

“Are you drunk in the early afternoon?” He sighs. “As long as you’re having fun…”

Gendry wipes a tear from his eye and gets up, clapping Theon’s back a little too hard. Theon suppresses a groan.

“Thanks for keeping me company. I had a great day.”

“Obviously,” Jon grumbles and Gendry grins as he leans over to kiss him on the cheek. He’s whispering something Theon doesn’t understand, then waves.

“See you!”

Jon and Theon are alone and for a moment Theon feels like running away. Then he gives himself a push and smiles.

“Had a rough day? I think you look more tired than ever.”

Jon looks at him in suspicion, obviously surprised by Theon’s laissez-faire attitude. Then he shrugs.

“Not too bad. I just…” He rubs his neck. “I didn’t sleep much.”

Jon blushes at the last words, but Theon ignores it.

“What do you want to eat today?”

His casual attitude helps to calm Jon further. Soon he’s relaxed and even smiling when Theon tells him of his day and the cats’ antics.

When Jon’s yawns start to look like they hurt Theon gets up.

“I’ll call it a night. Try to get some sleep, hm? No need to prepare food for me, I’ll manage.”

He hesitates only a second before bending down. Jon doesn’t move, holds his breath when Theon’s lips brush the spot behind his ear. He trembles.

“Theon…”

But Theon’s already pulled back again.

“Good night.”

A pious wish, for not one hour later there’s a knock on the door. Theon hears Jon talking to someone, his voice rising in anger, then a door slamming shut. A minute later he comes into the bedroom.

“Your uncle Aeron. I’m to tell you: Stop hiding, we know where you are. Just come and talk to us, we’re sure there’s a satisfying solution for everyone.”

Jon sneers. “Oh, and the rest was, Think of your poor mother, she’ll be so happy when the family gets along.”

Theon shakes his head.

“Doesn’t make any sense. My mother’s been dead for years. But then it’s Aeron. He probably meant, happy in the afterlife.”

“I’m not too sure about that.” Jon hands him a small card. Theon looks at it. ‘White Harbour Sanatorium’. He looks up.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Turn it around.”

Theon does. In a small, nearly unreadable writing it says, ‘ _I always thought you have the right to know. Go and see her._ ”

“I think your mother is anything but dead,” Jon says.


	7. Chapter 7

There’s no thought of sleeping that night. Theon is beside himself, not knowing what to think. He curses the loss of his phone, something that hadn’t bothered him at all until now.

He wants to call Aeron, wants to try to get hold of Asha, anything. He even wants to call the sanatorium, but Jon convinces him that this wouldn’t go down well in the middle of the night.

Theon paces the room until he feels absolutely exhausted. Jon watches him silently. At one point he goes to make some tea, adding a shot of rum to each cup. Theon barely pauses his restless wandering around to drink, but the alcohol soon helps.

He slumps down on the bed, buries his face in his hands. A warm, hesitant hand settles between his shoulder blades and the bed dips at his side. He looks up into Jon’s worried face.

“Your mother. She meant a lot to you?”

Theon nods, trying to swallow the stupid lump in his throat. Weak, weak, weak. No man of nearly thirty should be so upset about his mother, he thinks angrily.

But Jon doesn’t seem disgusted, he looks… sympathetic. Softer than usual. His hand is gently rubbing Theon’s back and it feels soothing, nice and comfortable.

It makes Theon want to lay his head in Jon’s lap and just fucking let go. Be weak. Of course he does nothing of the sort, he even tries to smile. It’s a little wobbly, but Jon smiles back immediately, encouraging.

“Tell me of her?”

So Theon does. He tells Jon how much he’s loved her and how much she’s loved him. How special the times were when it was just the two of them. He also tells him how weak she was, how she wasn’t strong enough to protect him from his father’s moods.

Jon says nothing, just listens, waiting patiently whenever Theon is searching for words. But at some point the hand that’s stroking Theon’s back creeps forward, covering Theon’s hands.

Finally Theon runs out of words. He sighs, feeling strangely empty. Jon is still quiet.

“What about your parents?” Theon asks.

“I grew up with my uncle and aunt. He was great, but Cat… At first she didn’t want me, but after an… incident… she started warming to me a bit more.”

“What incident?” Theon is genuinely curious.

“She lost me once. Wasn’t paying as much attention to me as to Robb and Sansa, and we got separated. I searched for her for hours and got more and more lost.”

 _Lost my aunt_ , a child’s voice repeats in Theon’s head.

“How did that turn out?”

To his surprise Jon smiles, a wide, shy smile that makes him look ridiculously young, and sweet.

“I was rescued. A boy, older than me. He saw me in trouble, two big kids were cornering me. He repaired my torn sweater and gave me a wristband to stop my bawling. I was a very whiny kid. And he took me to a police station.”

“And your aunt?”

“Had already alerted half the country. It was such a shock for her… We get along fine nowadays.”

Theon has to ask.

“And the boy?”

Jon’s smile turns wistful.

“I never saw him again, of course. This’ll sound stupid now - but I think he was my first love and I never forgot how he came to my aid, kind enough to console a strange, bawling child. I still hope…” he looks up at Theon. “Don’t laugh, okay?”

“Scout’s honour. Not that I’ve ever been in the scouts but… you know.”

Jon shoulderbumps him, still smiling.

“I guess I’m still hoping to find him again, one day. Even though I have no idea how I’d ever recognize him. I just remember that his hair was dark and his eyes blue or green or both. A light colour. That’s… half of Westeros I guess.” Jon looks up. “You’d fit that description too.”

Theon keeps quiet. It would be so easy, to present himself as ‘Mister Right’ here and now. They’re both vulnerable, bare. Sleep with Jon, then break his heart.

Theon doesn’t want that. It’s better Jon hopes for that fantasy guy than realise what he is today. So he keeps quiet. But there’s something else he can say.

“I hope you find him one day. But Jon - I’m here, now. I wanted The Black Dread - you - for years.”

“I know. And I… I _do_ want… but…”

“But?”

Theon reaches out, strokes a strand of hair back that has escaped the tie. He brushes the spot Gendry has told him about.

When Jon shivers and leans into his palm Theon feels nearly sick with himself. It seems unfair somehow, this advantage.

But he’s unable to stop himself from leaning in and finally claiming Jon’s mouth. With a sigh Jon’s lips part and he drifts closer, turning a soft kiss into something more.

Theon’s other hand comes up to cup Jon’s cheek, he deepens the kiss and Jon makes a small, strangled sound. It has something warm unfurl in Theon’s stomach.

After an entirely too short time Jon pulls back. Theon searches his face for a clue of what’s allowed, what he should do. Jon smiles and with a groan Theon crashes his mouth on Jon’s again.

This kiss is harder, more forceful, and Theons hands wander down to Jon’s waist, slipping under the hem of his jumper. Jon shivers and Theon stills.

“Too much?” he whispers against Jon’s mouth. To his relief Jon laughs and holds up his arms.

“No. Go on. You’ve been very patient, no?”

“Fucking right I was. Years of patience.”

Theon grins, pushes Jon’s jumper up and throws it away. For a long while he lets his gaze roam over Jon’s chest, followed by his hands. He's touching The Black Dread! Jon has shut his eyes, his breaths are coming faster.

With one quick move Theon slides the tie out of Jon’s hair and buries his hands in the soft curls. Jon moans quietly, a sound that sizzles through Theon like electricity.

He kisses him again, licks into his mouth, sucks on his lip, practically devours him and still it’s not nearly enough. Jon’s hands have wandered beneath Theon’s shirt but it keeps getting in his way. With an impatient sound Jon grabs it and tears.

“That was yours,” Theon laughs, slightly breathless.

“Who cares? Too long...” Jon’s answer is nearly a growl and suddenly the mood changes, what began soft and gentle turns wilder, more urgent. Jon’s hands are everywhere and Theon trembles under them.

“Did you think of something like this? Of my… of The Black Dread?” Jon asks.

There’s no sense in denial. “Yes. A lot.”

“How… what did you imagine?”

Theon lets go of Jon, moves back a fraction to look at him.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s happening, now. Whatever… however.” He’ll take anything Jon is willing to give.

Jon moves back on the bed, pulling off his sweatpants as he goes. Underneath them he’s naked, his dick hard. It makes Theon’s throat go dry.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles, unable to keep his eyes away, or his hands.

Jon shudders under his touches and Theon leans onto his elbows above him, covering Jon’s mouth with his own. Jon’s hands are pushing down Theon’s boxers, softly stroking his arse.

Soon his hands slip between the cheeks and touch him, and Theon moans into Jon’s mouth. He shifts his weight and starts rummaging through the bedside table drawer. When he comes up with the lube Jon scowls at him.

“Snooped, have you? I guess I can’t scold you for that now, seeing as it has these practical consequences.”

“Anyone ever told you you talk too much?” Theon asks while squeezing some on Jon’s waiting fingers.

“Honestly?” Jon laughs. “Never before in my whole life.”

His fingers, slicked and cool, are quick to get Theon ready, his touch expertly and gentle. He takes his dick in hand and slowly guides it into Theon.

Theon throws his head back, it’s been a long time since he’s let anyone fuck him thus, but it’s getting good, very good, very fast. He rolls his hips and Jon gasps.

Theon looks down at him, their eyes lock and suddenly Theon can’t get enough air in his lungs, Jon’s brown eyes are wide and focused and Theon shudders.

The realisation really hits, Jon is in him, Jon The Black Dread, Jon his childhood love, Jon the nurse, Jon the helpful guy taking in strays and strangers.

Jon, who looks amazing beneath him, so different to anything Theon’s ever imagined. Those dreams and fantasies dissolve, unmourned, and leave behind nothing but the real man.

Theon wraps a hand around his dick, stroking himself with frantic movements. His thighs tense, Jon’s gasps and moans are tearing him apart, and suddenly he sits up and smashes his mouth on Theon’s.

His tongue in Theon’s mouth, his hands in Theon’s hair, his dick thrusting up into him harder and faster, and like that Theon spills with a stifled curse.

Jon tenses against him and Theon can feel him coming, filling him up, altering him beyond recognition. _Fucked_ , Theon thinks hazily. _I’m really, truly fucked_.


	8. Chapter 8

His fingers follow the lines of the dragon, its tail down the small of Jon’s back, the tops of his wings up to his neck. Theon’s done that for the better part of an hour now, trying to burn those lines into his memory, for later when he’s not going to be here anymore.

Jon is dozing, his breath even and relaxed. He’ll have to get up soon, go to work. But for now he’s still here, and Theon is determined to make the most of it. He lets his mouth follow the paths his fingers have taken.

Jon shifts, making a content little sound that has Theon smile.

“Awake?”

Jon turns around, stretches into Theon.

“You could wake the dead like that.”

They kiss, slow and languid. With a quick move Jon rolls on top of Theon, pinning him to the bed. He bends down, nuzzling the side of Theon’s neck with his teeth.

“I want to take you so deep you’ll feel me all day.”

Theon laughs, a jittery, shaky sound.

“From zero to sex god in the matter of hours. You keep surprising me.”

He surprises Theon again when suddenly he sits back and flips him over.

“In a good way I hope.”

Then Jon doesn’t say anything else. He latches onto Theon’s neck, holds him in place like this while his hands roam down Theon’s body until -

“No, not there, don’t touch that!”

The hands are gone. Theon curses himself for his ridiculous outburst. But Jon shouldn’t -

“Does it still hurt?” Jon’s voice is calm and firm, the nurse’s voice.

“No.” Theon buries his face in the pillow, angry with himself. Fuck this. But Jon’s hands come back, not there but around it, stroking his thighs, his arse, not the spot beneath.

“Then why?”

Theon swallows. “It’s ugly.”

Jon’s warm lips caress him, everywhere, there. It nearly sends Theon out of his skin. No one’s ever touched him like that, like Jon does now.

“Initials,” Jon murmurs. “I wondered before, but now I can see it. Who did this?”

Theon is unable to control the shudder running through him.

“It said R.B.”

For a moment Jon is quiet, then he growls, low and deep.

“Skinner.”

“Aptly named, isn’t he?” Theon says in the weak attempt of a joke.

Jon is having none of it.

“He’s a bastard. How… I mean, how?”

His fingers are tracing the scars again, not shying away.

“Long story,” Theon mutters. “Can I tell you some other time though?”

Instead of an answer Jon stretches out beside him, his hands not leaving the spot. Theon’s face is turned away.

“Look at me.”

When Theon does, Jon is smiling at him, a hard smile.

“I still want to fuck you. I want to fuck you so good you’ll forget about everything else.”

Theon feels himself getting hard at these words. _Yes_ , he thinks, _make me forget, make me scream your name until I forget my own_.

Theon forgets everything. But he doesn’t forget his own name. How could he, with Jon saying it over and over again like a chant, like it’s the only word left in the world. The only words left in Theon’s world in that moment are fuck, and Jon.

When Jon finally has to go he leaves his laptop behind, for the first time.

“Maybe you can find your sister somewhere on social media. I’ll call your father’s secretary from the hospital, see if I can get Aeron’s number.”

“You’re leaving your computer? Are you sure I won’t use it to spread some interesting news the second you’re out?”

Jon gives him an unimpressed look.

“Not as long as you want my dick up your arse you won’t.”

“Aha,” Theon huffs in mock-exasperation. “So all you need to trust someone is your dick up their arse.”

“Or,” Jon threads a hand in Theon’s hair and pulls him into a short kiss, “it has to do with you trusting me.”

Theon spends the whole day on Jon’s laptop. To his surprise he’s found Asha on at least five different social media websites, something he’s never thought possible. Every site shows she hasn’t been online for about a month. He still messages her over every single one.

He thinks about his mother, a lot. Could it really be possible? But why the charade? Why the lies? He can’t make any sense of it. He really has to talk to Aeron. Out of his uncles he’s neither the craziest, nor the most violent. That’d be Euron. Both.

Theon gets his wish a lot faster than he thought. Around midday there’s a huge commotion in the hall outside the flat and when Theon goes to look he’s greeted by a grinning Gendry and an equally grinning Robb Stark. Between them, looking rather put out, is Aeron Greyjoy.

“Jon said you wanted to talk to that one,” Gendry says. “There you go.”

“How did you…?” Theon’s baffled.

“Easy,” Gendry cuts in. “I went up to The Reaver and asked him if we could borrow his brother. And for some reason he found it hilarious, ‘Anything for my beloved nephew’, he said.”

Theon feels a little queasy at that. Why would Euron give in so easily? He must want something. Theon dreads the answer to what that something could be. But, he suspects, he’ll find out soon enough.

“Where do you want him?” Gendry asks, all businesslike. “Living room? Shall we tie him to a chair?”

“I’ll have you reminded,” Aeron says grumpily, “that I came with you of my own free will. There’s no need to manhandle me like this.” He glances at Theon. “Hello, boy. How are you?”

Ten minutes later they’re grouped around the couch table like a bloody afternoon tea party. There’s even tea, Robb made some while chatting on and on about the absolute coolness of The Reaver, and how annoyed he is that he still didn’t have the chance to talk to him.

Theon gets it, he really does. Back when he was a teenager, uncle Euron had been the coolest person he’d known. Until that thing with uncle Vic’s wife had happened. Still, Theon thinks, it makes uncle Vic look no better.

He hasn’t seen Euron for years now, not since he’d taken him to his farewell party in the club. Where he’d introduced Theon to Skinner. Where he practically _sold_ Theon to Skinner, just for the fun of it. Theon had only found out later, when Ramsay had ‘accidentally’ told him about their little deal.

_(“He practically begged me to take you. Not even your family wants you. Luckily I want you very much.”)_

He wonders if Euron has changed at all in the years abroad. Most likely not. And if, he’s probably just gotten crazier. Theon shudders at the thought. Aeron it seems hasn’t changed at all since he’s last seen him a couple years ago. He’s sipping his tea, looking for all the world like he’s enjoying the flavour. Finally he deigns to speak.

“I gather you want more information about your dear mother?”

Theon nods.

“I always told your father that this would come back to bite him one day. Of course he’s proved me wrong with simply dying, the sly fox.” Aeron snorts disapprovingly. “Where was I? Yes, long story short, your mother lost her mind over Ron and Rod, and to not be exposed to talk et cetera your father pretended she’d died and had her locked away. Anything else?”

“Sounds pretty stupid,” Gendry adds his two cents. “Isn’t it a lot of work to fake a funeral and all that?”

“There was no funeral,” Theon says, deep in thought. “Just a private cremation, only father and some official. We thought it was because she killed herself instead of it having been an accident. That’s what father told us.”

“Well,” Aeron says with an ominous voice, “the coffin was empty.”

Out of the corner of his eyes Theon can see Robb roll his eyes. He’s forgotten how dramatic Aeron likes to sound. But he remembers him well enough to know that this is all they’re going to get out of him, even with two bare-knuckle-fighters present. So he sighs.

“Thank you, uncle. I guess we’ll meet again soon enough. Give uncle Vic and Euron my regards. You can have the whole enterprise, everything, I don’t want it.”

“It’s not that easy, dear boy,” Aeron says as he gets up. “You’ll hear from us.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Well,” Gendry says cheerily once Aeron is out, “that was weird.” He glances at his watch. “It’s past one pm, could we switch to a different kind of drink?”

Theon shrugs. “I don’t know if there is any, just beer in the fridge. But,” he adds with a sigh, “I could really use a drink now.” Even if it’s not a good idea, what with the painkillers he’s still taking for his poor ribs.

Gendry gets up, grinning from one ear to the other.

“There’s always something around here. If you allow?”

Quickly he removes everything from the couch table, then opens a lid Theon didn’t know there is. Inside there’s a whole bar, all sorts of alcohol. Unerringly Gendry reaches for a bottle of whisky. It looks rather expensive.

“I’m sure Jon won’t have a problem with us having some of this. He doesn’t like whisky himself.”

Robb has gotten them glasses in the meantime, half-pint glasses, and Gendry fills them to the brim. Theon watches him in disbelief but Robb and Gendry look like they do this every day. Maybe this is normal? Gendry raises his glass.

“To your mother not being dead, I suppose.”

“But went gaga,” Robb adds, feelingly. “Bottoms up, gentlemen!”

Theon has no other choice than to down his whisky in one go if he doesn’t want to look like a wuss next to the other two. Shame, he thinks. The stuff is excellent. Robb seems to be of the same opinion.

“Woah, this is a good one. Okay, the next in one go, but then I want to enjoy number three.”

Theon’s head is already swimming from number one, but he still nods and holds out his glass. This feels dangerously close to being with friends. Not that he’d know how real friends behave, he only knows fair-weather friends. Had been one his whole life.

He drinks, making a face. All that lovely whisky… nasty boozers, all of them. A thought crosses his mind and the whisky seems to have dissolved his filter, so he blurts out with it.

“I think you should write me that manual, Gendry. Not so much about Jon, but about this place.”

“Manual?” Robb asks before downing his second glass.

Theon doesn’t see Gendry’s warning look, he sips on his third glass of whisky and smiles at Robb.

“Yeah, like how to make Jon scream and all that. But I can do that, no problem. I need a manual how to get the whisky and the towels and such.”

Robb’s hand is fisted in Theon’s shirt before he knows what’s happening. Robb’s face is close, his up until now friendly eyes like hard steel.

“Are you saying you’re fucking my brother?”

His voice is eerily calm. No one would think he’s emptied two glasses of strong whisky. Theon’s mind is spinning, or maybe the room.

“No, I’m not!” Robb’s hand loosens its grip, until Theon continues. “Technically, he’s fucking me.”

Robb’s hand is gone and for a moment Theon sways. When he looks up he sees Gendry holding Robb’s arm back from thundering into Theon’s face.

“Keep cool, mate. Jon is old enough to make his own decisions. Don’t start that again.”

Robb’s face is bright red and Theon in his drunken state thinks it’s hilarious.

“That’s why they call you Strawberry,” he slurs, “not because of your hair, because your head looks like one when you’re angry.”

“Ah, Theon?” Gendry’s voice sounds slightly anxious. “Go into the bathroom and lock the door, ‘kay? I’ll come and get you… later.”

Theon shrugs and stumbles off. He bumps into the walls a lot on his way to the bathroom. Once there he locks the door and slumps against it, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor. Outside there’s a lot of crashing and shouting but he doesn’t listen.

He tries to think about his mother, how she might look now, but all his brain manages to produce is an image of her from when he was a child. Will she have changed?

The bathroom is spinning which isn’t as funny as it sounds. Wasn’t Jon here a minute ago? No, that was in the morning. Uncle Aeron has been here, but he’s gone too. Not so easy, he said. Whatever. They’re still doing something loud outside, something Theon’s not a part of. Why’s that? They don’t really like him, probably.

That’s the problem, Theon thinks. No one _really_ likes him. They all just pretend to. Except mother. And maybe Asha. What about Jon? This seems impossible, he’s not related to Theon, why would he like him? But then he did fuck him, so. Good. The memory of yesterday and the morning flood his mind like sunshine and Theon thinks it’d be nice to have a little wank. Only he’s not hard, despite being horny.

“Whisky-dick,” he says as a way of explanation, mostly to himself.

Theon scrambles to his feet, it feels like it’s happening in slow-motion. There he is, in the mirror. The reflection is blurry and changes shape every other moment but when he squints he can see the long cut on his forehead, still with the little holes from where the stitches have been. There’s a knob on his nose where it’s swollen but it’s a lot better. The bruises have faded completely, but the Theon in the mirror looks so sad...

“Will be fine, Mr. Greyjoy,” Theon tells his reflection soothingly. “Nobody will see a thing. If you like we can try a skin grafting with your own skin, nobody’s gonna notice. Sure, you’ll have two scars where before was only the one, but who cares, who wants to see me naked anyways? No need to cry, Mr. Greyjoy, it will be fine.”

“Theon?”

Jon’s voice, outside, somewhere. Where? The Theon in the mirror looks confused as hell. For some reasons there are a lot of Mirror-Theons now. There’s a knock on the door and Theon giggles, all the Theons do. Jon is outside and can’t come in. Theon will have to go out. Slowly he makes it to the door and slumps against it.

“Hello Jon,” he shouts.

“Theon, open the door.”

Jon sounds impatient, he’ll better open the door. After a long fumble with the lock the door opens and Jon comes in, Gendry in tow. Both look angry. Why angry? Is it his fault? Must be, nobody else here. Wasn’t Strawberry around? Red hair, red face. Angry blue eyes. They’re all angry, all except Theon. He’s feeling not too bad, considering that his hand is bleeding. Why is his hand bleeding?

“Let me have a look.”

Jon again, and Jon still looks angry, but Gendry is there and trying to help, Gendry’s always helping, he’s a nice guy. But he shouldn’t touch Jon like he does now, his time is past, now it’s Theon’s time for as long as he decides to have it, a day or a month or whatever, not Gendry’s time.

“He’s completely wasted. Come on, killer, look at him. He didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Jon,” Theon says, trying to get his attention. “You should wear that sweater again, it’s so pretty, but I guess it’s too small now.”

Jon looks at him like Theon has lost his mind. Has he? He feels a little crazy, but that’s the whisky. They lead him to the couch. Strawberry’s there, on the couch, snoring like a rhino. His face isn’t red anymore, pity, Theon thinks. He looked so funny.

“When he gets old and his hair is white and he’ll get angry he’ll look like a strawberry with whipped cream,” Theon says.

For a moment it’s quiet before Gendry starts laughing, or more like, braying like a mule, but it’s still nice and Theon looks at Jon smugly, trying to see if he thinks he’s funny too. But Jon isn’t laughing, he’s frowning, looking like there’s something he wants to say badly but he doesn’t say it and Theon gets antsy.

“Jon, are you mad? Are you mad? I’m sorry, whatever it was. Can we go fuck?”

Theon turns to Gendry. It’s important that he tells him something.

“Jon can still fuck me even when I have whisky-dick.”

Gendry raises an eyebrow and grins lewdly.

“I bet he can. And if you ever stop yapping for a moment I bet he’ll do a bit later. After he’s done with you.”

Theon again wants to see how Jon is reacting to that, but Jon is gone. Where is he? Jon’s back soon with a glass in his hands. Its content looks disgusting and Theon shudders. What’s Jon doing with that disgusting stuff? Oh. He holds it out to Theon, unsmiling.

“Drink.”

Theon takes the glass. He’d do anything as long as Jon talks in that tone with him. So he drinks and smiles at Jon. Jon smiles back now. It’s an unsettling smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now finished writing the story and I _think_ I'll post two times a week from now on. 
> 
> Tbh I absolutely have no idea if anyone is (still) enjoying this AU so far?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow's patented sobering mixture was invented by a friend of mine. She never told me what's in it - probably for the better, it's the most disgusting thing ever ><

Theon thinks his stomach will burst any second now. He vomits like never before in his life. Whatever was in that nasty drink Jon has mixed him it’s doing the trick. He’s stone-cold sober. Theon’s sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, has been for the better part of the last half hour. Outside he can hear Gendry and Jon talking, and everytime Theon goes for another round Gendry laughs his stupid head off.

The cat is sitting next to him, the golden one, he’s forgotten her name. The hissy one. Now she’s not hissing, she just watches him with a faint look of what he’d swear is amusement. Between two rounds she even allows him to pet her little head with a shaking hand.

Finally it seems to be over. Before returning to the living area, Theon takes a little detour to the bathroom. The mirror is broken and he dimly remembers hitting it, but he can’t remember why. He rinses his mouth thoroughly before brushing his teeth. The toothbrush almost is enough to have his stomach heaving again, but he manages to keep it down.

After he’s done and has swallowed a large gulp of mouthwash he joins the other guys. They’re sitting on the floor in front of the couch. Robb is still sleeping on it, he seems nearly comatose. Theon flinches at the sight of him. He knows he’s pissed him off, but can’t recall why or how. Gendry greets him with a huge grin.

“Jon Snow’s patented sobering mixture never fails. How do you feel?”

“Queasy,” Theon confesses. He peers over at Jon and finds he’s frowning. That’s nothing unusual per se, but it still makes Theon feel uneasy. Jon glares at him.

“Now that you’re done with properly embarrassing yourself I have a few questions for you.”

“Go on,” Theon says, sitting down next to Gendry on the floor, to be on the safe side. Jon doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for cuddling.

“Okay, first. Did you manage to contact your sister?”

“I wrote to her. I’ll have to wait and see.”

“Good.” Jon nods. “Second, and I want you to think about that very well. Do you want to go see your mother?”

Theon is quiet for an eternity. He can feel Gendry and Jon watching him. Finally he turns his head to Jon.

“Do you think I can?”

“It’ll be difficult,” Jon says, “but not impossible. I checked the clinic out, it’s one with high security and everything. But I think I can get you in. If you want it.”

“I want it,” Theon says before his mind has even formed the words.

He looks at Jon again. His eyes are warmer now, his mouth relaxed instead of pulled down.

“Then that’s what we’ll do. Monday. I took the day off.”

“That’s practical,” Gendry throws in. “Straw has an appointment on Sunday night.”

“Who is it?”

“A new guy, called Needle. Pretty small but I heard he’s fierce. Straw will have a hard time.”

“Fuckin’ won’t”, a drowsy voice comes from above them. Robb has more or less woken up. “Jon, can I have a glass of you know what?”

“At it.” Jon sighs as he scrambles to his feet, dragging Theon up with him and over to the kitchen unit. Robb’s bloodshot eyes follow them warily.

When Jon is done mixing his miracle cure - Theon didn’t have the stomach to watch him - he holds it out to Robb, but when he reaches for the glass Jon takes it back.

“First things first. You know what I mean.”

Robb growls, but gives Theon a bleary-eyed look.

“Sorry for going berserk on you.”

“And?” Jon isn’t satisfied yet. Robb rolls his eyes.

“And Jon can do whatever and whoever he likes and it’s none of my business.”

“And?” Jon sounds like he’s trying to bite back a laugh. Robb looks back at Theon.

“And I swear I will never try to hit you again.”

“Fine,” Jon smiles and gives him the drink.

 

When they’re alone later, Theon asks.

“What’s happened when you came home? While I was in the bathroom?”

To his surprise Jon huffs.

“When I came home Gen was trying to hold Robb back from thrashing my flat and then Robb saw me and started shouting - he was really drunk - about how could I do this and had I forgotten who you are and all that jazz.”

He smiles now, a little lopsided. “And I told him to go fuck himself. That’s not even something I can help. Someone tells me not to do something and I go and do it anyways.”

Is he saying he’s only in bed with Theon now because Robb told him not to? Theon doesn’t want to dwell on it. And what does it matter anyway? As long as he gets what he wants, the why shouldn’t be an issue. And what he wants is Jon’s dick up his arse and Jon’s lips on his throat and around his nipples and Jon’s fingers raking down his chest, and Jon making those amazing sounds.

Luckily he gets all of that, twice, before Jon falls asleep against Theon’s chest, barely able to pull out after the second time. And if he’s honest with himself Theon has to confess he likes it well enough, the warm weight and the feeling of Jon slowly trickling out of him. There wasn’t ever any of this with Ramsay, with him it was more like, now fuck off and clean yourself or I’ll have your hide. Quite literally.

But then, nothing was like it should be, with Ramsay. If someone would ask him Theon would probably say it was a relationship, his longest, his only one as of yet, but it’s not really true. In a relationship you shouldn’t be slapped around and treated like shit and make trips to the ER frequently and have someone’s initials carved in your skin, Theon’s reasonably sure.

But Ramsay did introduce him as his boyfriend when they were out, and Theon never protested against that label. Of course he wouldn’t have, come to think of it. He hadn’t protested against anything Ramsay did. It’s hard to think about why, now that it’s over and in the past.

“Because I’m fucking weak,” Theon mumbles to himself before realising what he’s doing. Jon doesn’t stir which he’s thankful for. It’s enough he’s seen Theon weak on a dozen occasions already. He doesn’t need to hear him saying it out loud too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'll post twice a week from now on - but this morning I didn't and the whole day I had a feeling like I hadn't done my homework ^^'
> 
> What do you prefer? Daily updates or dragging it out a bit?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since daily is your choice, here we go again. Poor Cersei.

When Jon comes home Sunday night he’s not alone. With him is a small girl, cursing loudly. Theon stares at them. She looks a lot like Jon, only her hair is shorter and straight, and her huge eyes are a dark grey.

“Would you fucking let go of me, you bloody idiot? I could’ve totally taken him down!!”

“Sure,” Jon remarks sourly, “the second you came in and Robb noticed who you are he was shell shocked. Seriously, Bran could’ve taken him down.”

“Aaarrrrgh,” the girl growls, “why the fuck should I not fight, huh? Because I’m a _girl?_ ”

“You know very well I don’t care if you’re a boy, a girl or a snark but I do care about your head getting bashed in. Really, Arya…” Jon sighs heavily. “Why didn’t you just say something to me or Robb? We could’ve shown you around, get you a coach, and most importantly of all an opponent of your own level!”

The girl - Arya - stops her writhing and blinks.

“You would’ve done that?”

“Why the fuck not?” Jon sounds offended at her obvious disbelief. “You ought to know me better. Me and Robb.”

He catches sight of Theon getting up from the couch and rubs a hand over his head, making his already dishevelled hair look even funnier. This little girl obviously didn't come voluntarily.

“Theon - my cousin Arya. Arya, that’s Theon Greyjoy.”

Arya gives him a short, unimpressed nod before turning back to Jon.

“Can we - do you think we can still do all that? With the coach and stuff?”

Jon can’t quite keep himself from smiling it seems. Theon can see he’s trying hard - and failing.

“Not my place to decide that, missy. I suggest you talk to your father about it - and I wouldn’t mention your little escapades, yeah?”

Arya grins.

“Course, I’m not a dimwit. Can I sleep on the couch?”

Jon nods. “I’ll drop you off at home tomorrow. Good night.”

She gives them a little wave, already snuggling into the blankets still littering the couch.

“Keep it down, guys!”

All energy seems to drain out of Jon the moment he sits down on the bed and in the end Theon has to get him out of his clothes and under the covers before switching off the light.

“Wake me up when you want to go. It’s a two-hour drive,” Jon mumbles drowsily, his cheek pressed against Theon’s arm. Not the most comfortable of positions, but Theon doesn’t have the heart to make him move now.

“Will do. Good night.”

No answer. Jon is blown out like a candle.

Theon wakes up to the smell of coffee and toasted bread. When he comes padding in the living area he finds Arya on the couch, a plate of overflowing peanut butter-jelly-sandwiches in her lap and two doting cats at her feet. She cocks her head at him.

“Good morning wood.”

What? Theon looks down and she giggles. Little beast. While Theon is pouring some coffee for himself there’s a small mewl from somewhere above his head. He looks up to see Cersei the cat cowering on the kitchen cabinet.

“How did you get up there?”

Without thinking Theon stretches and, miraculously, she lets him pick her up. She huddles close to his chest, staring around wide-eyed. She’s obviously terrified of something. Another chuckle from the couch has him sigh and Cersei trying to crawl into his chest. Or terrified of someone it seems.

“What did you do to her?” Theon asks accusingly.

“Oh… Nothing yet.” Arya’s grin is… disturbing, to put it mildly. “But I promised her all seven hells if she ever so much as looks at me again. Bloody beast bit me!”

“You obviously were very convincing,” Theon says weakly. “Poor thing is shaking like a leaf.”

“Good,” Arya mumbles, mouth full. “So. You’re The Reaver’s nephew, yeah? Awesome!”

Theon sighs and sits down at the table, which isn’t easy with a frightened cat clinging to his shirt. Great, another Euron-groupie.

“You’re the daughter of Ice and the cousin of The Black Dread. Someone like Euron shouldn’t impress you.”

“Yes, I see how _impressed_ you are with Jon.”

Her eyes flicker to his neck and Theon quickly slaps his hand over a slightly sore spot where Jon has sucked a bruise into his skin the morning before.

“Stop staring!”

“Be glad I’m just staring.” Her look is a lot more sinister than it should be given she’s such a tiny thing. “Robb isn’t very happy about you either. He’s been talking in the club about Jon’s _big mistake_. Not happy at all.”

Theon stares at her. Talking about him in the club? He hopes Robb hasn’t told his name. Euron would no doubt find it highly interesting and Ramsay - Theon swallows. This’d be the last thing he needs.

“What are you up to today?” Arya asks. “Jon said he’ll drop me off which means he’s already going somewhere. He never uses his car.”

“We’re going to try to see my mother who I thought was dead but is really in a clinic,” Theon says, wondering about himself. Arya seems unfazed by that.

“Then what are you waiting for? Go and wake Jon. If it’d be my mum I’d already be there.”

“Have you seen him?” Theon scoffs. “He really needs some serious sleep.”

“Hm.” Arya narrows her eyes at him, then grins. “What do you think of Needle as my fighting name?”

“Uh…” Theon’s bemused at the sudden topic change. Cersei mewls under his chin. It somehow sounds scornful. “I think it fits? Small, sharp and prickly.” He remembers something. “Didn’t you do Ninjutsu?”

“Yeah, but it got boring. How do you know?”

“My father published a series about the Stark kids once. Your sister’s a fencing champion.”

“Right.” Arya rolls her eyes. “Her room looks like a bloody hall of fame with all the ribbons and trophies she won.”

“And your brother’s a chess player, and a good one at that. Didn’t he beat Petyr Baelish?”

“Correct. But don’t you ever mention it around Bran if you don’t want to be bored to death by the story of his epic six-hour-victory.”

“Will try not to. And the youngest had just started motocross a few years ago.”

“Rickon, yeah. You’re well informed.”

“If Father had known about the bare-knuckle-fighting he’d have had a heart attack from pure joy.” Theon pauses. “I can’t believe Euron never told him.”

“He’d never.” Arya smiles smugly. “You’re sworn to secrecy when you want to be in the club.” Her smile fades, is replaced by a hard glare. “You should be too now you know so much.”

Theon looks at her in horror, unwittingly clutching Cersei a little tighter. She growls and bites his chin, though not very hard.

“Ow!” Theon gazes down. “Sorry, kitty.” He looks back at Arya. “I can’t go there again! Euron wants something and there’s someone who wants my hide.” Again, quite literally.

“What, Skinner?” Arya scoffs. “He’s a very mediocre fighter, not a threat if you’re there with Jon or Gen.”

“Still rather not, thank you.”

Theon gets up. He’s had enough unsettling conversation for now, and he suspects his mother won’t want to discuss the national debt issues either. With Cersei still huddled in his arms he walks back to the bedroom.

It’s nearly noon by now and Jon is still sleeping soundly. Good, Theon thinks. About bloody time. He sits down and Cersei hops from his arms. Carefully she lies down next to Jon’s feet, giving him a wary glance. He doesn’t stir.

Theon stretches out beside him. Unfortunately his mouth accidentally bumps into Jon’s as he does so. Accidentally. This does wake Jon and he blinks.

“Time’s it?”

“About lunchtime. Sleep. Sorry I woke you.”

“WHAT?” Jon sits up quickly. “Why did you wait so long?”

“You needed some serious rest,” Theon mutters defiantly.

Jon gives him a weird glance.

“Aren’t you dying to go?”

“Sure.” Theon shrugs. “But some more hours after all those years…”

Jon is already dressing.

“Come on, then. Hey, what’s the cat doing in bed? Nevermind, is there any coffee?”

Twenty minutes later they’re sitting in Jon’s car after a lot of bickering who rides shotgun, which Theon won because of his longer legs. Arya’s sulking in the backseat when Jon stops at a snow-white villa with a large security fence. He turns to her.

“Off you go. Tell Ned and Cat and the rest I said Hi.”

Once Arya’s safely inside Jon turns to look at Theon.

“Let’s go see your mum.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They should really be in White Harbour by now, but... somewhere on the way Plot decided to take a break

They stop at a service station shortly before White Harbour. Theon has been quiet the whole drive, nervous and afraid of what he’ll find. His mother - maybe. Jon grabs a bag from the trunk and herds Theon into the bathroom. Theon grins despite himself.

“Needing some badly, hm? I could imagine a nicer place for a quickie.”

Jon raises one eyebrow and locks the door.

“Clothes off.”

“Whatever you say.” Theon hurries to comply, then starts laughing when Jon holds out a selection of hot pink scrubs. “For a moment I really hoped you want a quickie. Seriously, Jon. Pink?”

“It’s your colour.”

Jon isn’t quite smiling, but at least he’s not frowning anymore. When Theon wants to slip into the pants and shirt, Jon shakes his head.

“Wait.”

He unpacks some light blue scrubs for himself and Theon tuts.

“See, they’re perfectly fine. You take great delight in torturing me.”

Jon’s mouth twitches. Suddenly he lunges at Theon and presses him against the door of the stall. Theon gasps.

“Jon, what are you-”

“Relaxing you.” Jon kisses him, hard. “Now shut up.”

When Jon drops the shirt he’s wearing onto the floor and goes down on his knees, it does shut Theon up rather quickly. Jon pulls Theon’s boxers down, a definite smile on his face now when he finds him half-hard already.

Jon takes him in his mouth and Theon’s head falls back, his fingers helplessly searching for grip in Jon’s tied-back hair. Jon pulls back and glares.

“Don’t mess up my bun.”

Theon’s laugh sounds a little jittery when he finally manages to free Jon’s hair.

“I’ll fix it for you later. Just don’t… fuck, don’t stop.”

Jon rolls his eyes but gets back to business with vigor. Theon’s gasps and moans grow louder the harder Jon’s sucking, he has no ear anymore for the sounds he makes, doesn’t care if anyone hears him. Nothing exists but Jon’s mouth, and Jon’s fingers that are digging into his hips.

Theon can feel his release is close, his thighs tense and his stomach tightens, and suddenly Jon stops and gets up. It has Theon nearly scream in frustration, but Jon shushes him.

“Turn around.”

Theon does so without a question, he’d do anything to come right now, anything Jon tells him to do. Without warning two slick fingers slide into him and he groans, pressing his forehead against the cold stall door. Jon stretches him quickly, it burns, and Theon doesn’t want it to stop ever again.

But stop it does when Jon turns him around again, latching onto his chest, biting, licking, sucking his nipples until he feels closer than before.

“Jon…”

Again it stops, Jon leans back and watches him for a moment. His eyes are dark with want.

“Up with you. Wrap your legs around me.”

“What? Have you lost your mind? I’m bloody heavy, you can’t - fuck, yes, alright. Anything, just fucking touch me!”

Jon lets go of Theon’s dick and with one vehement hitch he’s got Theon up and against the door. Theon’s legs wrap around Jon’s waist automatically. Jon bites his lip and grunts in exertion when pushing into Theon.

His breath comes in short gasps and pants as Jon thrusts into him again and again, his head hits the door but he doesn’t feel it, only Jon and what he’s doing to him. It’s fast and rough and soon Jon’s thrusts get erratic and sloppier, he wraps a hand around Theon’s dick, a quick succession of strokes and Theon’s coming hard, hitting his head one last time.

When Jon slowly lets him down again his thighs are shaking, his belly is striped with his own come and Jon looks so smug Theon feels a sudden rush of affection well up in his chest. Damn.

They get dressed, Jon quietly while Theon starts bitching about the pink again, if only to have something to say, something to fill the sudden silence between them.

On Jon’s orders they both scrub their hands and arms with a nasty scrubbing brush and antibacterial soap that Jon had with him. He’s only satisfied with Theon’s hands when his skin is red and hurts. Jon scoffs about his bitten nails, but that’s not something Theon can change right now. It’s not like he can go see his manicurist after all.

As soon as Jon’s bun is firmly back in place they get to the car. The last part of the drive Jon’s hand rests on Theon’s thigh, calming and comforting, to keep him still as much as remind him of what has happened just now.

As if Theon could forget. He probably never will and when he’s an old, wrinkly man he’ll tell the scandalized staff in the old folks’ home he’ll end up in about the best fuck of his sad life.

He frantically searches for something harmless to talk about. When he gives Jon a side glance Theon gets an idea.

“Why that obsession with your hair? No kidding, mate, it really looks good when you wear it down.”

“I wonder who’s the one obsessed with my damn hair,” Jon mutters. “It’s just practical like this. I can’t wear it down on the job and this way it doesn’t get in my eyes all the time. And when I wear it down it’s all people see when they look at me. Hair this, hair that, blablabla. Sometimes I think I should just fucking cut it off again.”

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

It’s a horrified shout and for a moment Theon freezes, having no idea where that just came from.

“I mean, obviously you can do what you want, it’s your hair,” he adds grudgingly.

Jon looks over briefly, a comical mix of annoyance and delight on his face. Theon sighs, grumpy with himself. But that hair... When it’s open it looks just like it did when he first met him as a kid. He’s sure it’s the reason for many a one-night-stand with curly-haired-girls over the years and he would be fucking heartbroken if Jon would really cut it. Of course Theon doesn’t say so, but when Jon pinches his thigh, muttering something that sounds like, “alright, I won’t”, he can’t quite repress a smile.

They stop at the gate of a long driveway leading into a park. Jon presses the intercom and after a short moment they’re buzzed in. That wasn’t so hard, Theon thinks. Jon has given him a fake ID that’s hanging around his neck now. How Jon knows what the IDs of the clinic look like he doesn’t know. Or how he got them. And he sure as hell doesn’t plan on asking. The less Theon knows the better, not least for Jon’s peace of mind.

They’re checked by security before entering the main building and are sent to the personnel office. The hallways smell like sanitizer and floor polish. The place is kept up well, the few patients that are on the corridors seem in a healthy condition, physically at least, and at ease with their surroundings. Before they knock on the office door Jon takes a deep breath.

“Leave the talking to me, okay? I’ll get us in there in no time.”

Upon their knock a stern voice bids them to come in. A feisty looking lady is sitting behind a polished oakwood desk, examining them with a frown.

“Temps?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jon says. “We’re here for the day.”

“Show me your hands!” she barks and Theon quickly presents them. Jon does the same. She studies them for a solid minute before nodding curtly. “Perfect. You can start in wing A with the usual afternoon routine, I gather you know your way around.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

They’re out again in less than five minutes and Jon sighs.

“Matrons. All the same, all wonderful. Sorry,” he grins at Theon who looks slightly dubious. “I really like the type. They’d rather eat their own arm than ever neglect their duties.”

He then determinedly leads the way to wing A, Theon trudging behind him.

“How the fuck do you know where we have to go? Have you been here before?”

“No,” Jon says, not slowing his brisk pace. “I memorized the floor plan of the building.” Upon Theon’s blank stare he exaggerates. “The library? Come on, Theon. You know what a library is, don’t you?”

“Of course I know, bloody hell!” Theon feels a little taken aback at the insinuation. “I just had no idea you can get such things there is all.”

They stop at a door labeled ‘staff’ and Theon huffs.

“Tell me, Jon Secret Agent Snow - how do we find my mum in this fucking big house?”

Jon has opened the door and is rummaging inside. Now he comes out holding a -

“Fucking fuck, please not that!”

Theon feels all colour drain from his face. Jon is smiling at him innocently. In his hands he’s holding a bedpan.

“What did you think? Let’s get to work, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. They made it. More or less intact, including the holy bun. But now the work really starts. ^^


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found her, finally.

Two hours later Theon feels more exhausted than ever before in his whole life. Even with Jon doing all the really hard work there’s still enough left for Theon to do and by now he’s in dire need of a shower, a humongous cocktail and a hug, not necessarily in this order. He’s been peed at, had things thrown at him and people hollering abuse the second he got into their room.

If this is what Jon’s shifts at the hospital look like it’s no wonder he’s on his last legs when he comes home. Now Jon stops in front of the next room. The sign says, A. Harlaw, and Theon freezes.

“That’s my mother’s maiden name, Harlaw.”

“You sure?” Jon gives him a stern glance. “That’s her?”

“Alannys Harlaw,” Theon whispers, more to himself. “It has to be her, A. Harlaw, it has to be.”

“Then in with you. I’ll wait here.” For a moment Jon hesitates before taking Theon’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Good luck.”

“Can you come? In, I mean. I am…” Theon takes a deep breath. “Fuck you if you ever make fun of me for this, but I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to go in there on my own.”

Jon doesn’t look like he’ll laugh or mock him or anything. He just nods, knocks briefly and opens the door. The room behind it is bright, flooded by the low afternoon sun. The view is beautiful, of the park and the sea glittering through the trees. A woman is sitting in a rocking chair at the window. Her long white hair hangs in a thin braid over her shoulder. At first sight she looks perfectly normal.

Theon carefully goes nearer. She doesn’t seem to notice him, only when he crouches beside the chair she looks away from the window.

“Mother.”

It’s her, just like his memories. She hasn’t aged a day, apart from the now white hair. For a moment Theon thinks he saw a glimmer of recognition, but it could be just wishful thinking. Her eyes are vacant now, looking through him more than at him.

“It’s me. Theon.”

“I remember Theon,” she says in a soft, musical voice. “But he was a lot smaller than you. You are taller than Roddie.” This seems to spark a thought in her. “Have you seen Roddie? Or Ron? Those bad boys never visit their poor old mum.”

“I haven’t seen them, mother. They died a long time ago. I thought you were dead, too.”

“Oh, right. Did Balon send you to bring me home? Tell him I don’t want to come. They’re gone and I don’t want to come.”

“But I’m still there. Asha is still around somewhere.” Theon can hear how pleading his voice sounds. “Can’t you come home to us?”

Slowly she lifts her hand and strokes his cheek.

“You look a lot like my youngest, dear. He had the same hair, the same eyes. Do you know my little boy? Do you know my Theon?”

The tears have started and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about them.

“Yes, I know him.”

“Is he happy? Has he found a nice girl? Is he staying out of trouble? Poor Theon, always so soft, the softest of my children.”

Theon’s chest heaves. Even she knows that, even in her state of mind. She turns her head and he looks into her eyes. Suddenly they crease and she smiles at him. It’s like a sunrise on the coast, on a cloudless day.

“Are you happy, Theon?”

She knows who he is. Her hand is in his hair and her eyes are on him and she knows who he is. He smiles back, the widest smile he’s ever felt on his face.

“Yes, mother. I’m very happy.”

“Good.” The light vanishes from her eyes, they’re dull and grey again. Her hand falls from his head. “Tell Roddie and Ron I want to see them, will you?”

“I will.” Theon gets up, feeling lightheaded for a moment, then Jon is there to steady him. He bends down and kisses the top of her head. “I love you, mum.”

She doesn’t respond, only hums quietly to herself while staring out of the window at the wind in the trees.

He can’t see anything, still blinded by his fucking tears, but he doesn’t dare wipe them away, doesn’t want to draw attention to them. Jon’s hand is like an anchor, leading him through corridor after corridor until they’re out in the fresh air and back in the safety of the car. Jon quietly drives out of the park and past the city, past the harbour. He stops at a layby with a viewpoint and switches the engine off.

Theon is silent, just stares out of the windshield, onto the sea and a view gulls sailing on the wind. When Jon reaches over Theon shakes his head.

“Don’t.”

Jon nods and pulls his hand back. He doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything that wouldn’t make Theon want to hit him right now. But he’s there, Theon can feel his presence, and maybe it’s the only thing that keeps him from losing his shit completely. It’s long gone dark before Theon finally clears his throat.

“Let’s go back.”

  
Back at Jon’s flat Theon goes to take a shower. He’s so tired, feels exhausted to his very bones. His mind seems to be wrapped in cotton or something. Everything’s slow and dull. After he’s done he crawls into bed, ignoring Jon’s question if he wants to eat something. It’s not long before Jon comes to join him, treading carefully.

“Do you want to be alone?”

Theon shakes his head. That’s the last thing he wants. But he couldn’t bear if Jon touched him right now so he skids as close to the edge as he can and turns his back at him. Jon seems to understand. He lies down at the most distance he can manage without falling out of the bed.

“Hey.” Jon sounds gentle and Theon hates it. Wants to hate it. “Try to get some sleep.”

Theon doesn’t answer. After a while Jon’s breathing becomes regular and calm. Theon’s eyes are wide open. A soft traipsing sound catches his attention, then suddenly there’s something warm on the pillow above his head. A rough little tongue starts licking the salt from his cheeks while a second warm weight drops down on his feet.

The third cat balances on the small stripe that’s left between his body and the edge of the bed. With a sigh Theon moves until his back touches Jon’s. The cat purrs in satisfaction as it curls up against his chest. Strange, Theon muses. He’s never thought of himself as an animal person, but those cats are quite something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am lucky in that I haven't had a family member getting dementia or anything like this. So far everyone knows me.  
> I imagine it'd be heartbreaking though.


	14. Chapter 14

Jon has the next day off as well but when Theon wakes up he’s nowhere to be found. Theon doesn’t really mind. Some time to himself is just what he needs now.

He spends the day in various positions either on the bed or the couch, often with one to three cats around. Cersei has become quite possessive and shoos the other two away, especially Tyrion.

When Jon finally comes home in the evening Theon feels better, rested and ready to get on. He eyes the bag Jon has brought with interest.

“Please tell me this is food.”

“Fast food,” Jon confirms. “I thought… If this is not the time for fatty, unhealthy food with zero nutritional value, then what.”

Theon sighs happily as he shovels overly salted fries into his mouth, washing it down with terrible, watery soda. The only thing missing now would be…

“Brownie?” Jon asks.

Theon nearly starts sobbing at the sight. Jon makes sugar with a little coffee and cream. Theon beams at him.

“Marry me.”

Jon snorts at that but is blushing all the same. Theon stretches out on the couch, feet on the table. After dealing with the dishes Jon joins him and they watch some animated movie, though Theon can’t really say what it is about.

The moment Theon thinks it would be nice to have a little action, Jon’s hand is on his neck and drags him into a long kiss. When Theon pulls back for air he looks at Jon, awestruck.

“How do you do this?”

“What?” Jon seems clueless.

“Knowing what I need before I know myself.”

“Dunno.” Jon shrugs. “Good at guessing maybe. Wanna fuck?”

“There, you’re doing it again!”

“Well,” Jon says patronisingly, “that now wasn’t exactly hard.”

  
Jon has to work a twenty-four hour shift the next day, and Theon is bored. He can’t think about his mother non-stop and even stroking some very nice cats isn’t really something he can see himself do as a full-time job.

Jon has left the laptop again and after half an hour of mindless bubble shooter games Theon decides to check his bank account. The money that’s been there is untouched, and that’s a lot of money.

But all three of his credit cards are blocked. Damn uncle Vic, he thinks, so far the only uncle who’s had access to the firm accounts. Actually he’s quite curious what Victarion and Aeron had to say to Euron’s return and sudden interest in the firm. Both are not exactly fans.

Theon is surfing randomly through the web when he comes across the webpage of an art gallery. He starts clicking through the pics of paintings and objects when one of them catches his eye.

Two minutes later he’s bought it, for a lot more than he’d normally spend on something that’s neither edible nor drinkable. Or smokeable. The only things he spends money on despite being none of these are clothes. Which he’s in dire need of, he can’t borrow Jon’s stuff forever.

After another half hour he leans back, satisfied. He hasn’t only ordered clothes but all the stuff he used to need in his daily life. Or what he thought he needed.

This brings on another strange thought - he hasn’t smoked since the night Jon had found him. No cigarettes, no pot. And he hasn’t even missed it. It’s not like he’s smoking regularly, but regularly enough to expect at least some kind of turkey. Of course, now that he’s thinking about it he immediately starts craving a fag. Bloody wonderful.

He also hasn’t missed his cologne collection, his silk shirts, his tailored jeans, his handmade leather shoes, he hasn’t been to his hairdresser’s in over two weeks and shaves with Jon’s cheap disposable razors.

And he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind _living_ with someone, someone he coincidentally also sleeps with. That’s… disturbing, to say the least. He thinks of the painting he just bought and cringes.

A dragon diving into a churning sea. Jon’s dragon and Theon’s sea, the sea of his family’s homelands. What was he thinking?? Theon panics. Can he undo the transaction? ‘No refunds’, says the website. Fuck.

“Hey,” Jon’s voice sounds from the door. “How was your day?”

 _How was his day???_ Did he get married without anyone telling him? Jon’s innocent expression and the supermarket bags in his hand don’t really help Theon’s agitated state.

“I thought I’ll make us some seafood pasta-” Jon stops when he sees Theon’s expression. “Anything wrong?”

“Seafood pasta,” Theon repeats, toneless. “You want to make seafood pasta.”

“Not good?” Jon frowns as he puts the bags on the kitchen counter. “I thought you might like that, isn’t your family coming from some stormy islands? I thought I’d read something like this.”

A thought holds back the venomous reply Theon wants to spit at Jon. If he pisses him off he won’t see his mother again. He’ll have to leave and deal with his uncles. He won’t see the cats anymore, Cersei would wonder where he’s at.

Theon shakes his head. Has he lost his fucking mind? Jon has turned his back on Theon, packing the things he’s bought in the fridge. His shoulders are stiff, his voice strained.

“Sorry.”

“What for?” Theon starts to feel bad about his behaviour, his selfish thoughts. “You wanted to cook pasta for me. Normally people don’t apologize for things like that.”

“No.” Jon supports himself against the counter. “For beleaguering you like that. I tend to…” He sighs and turns around. “I tend to confuse things. Get too cozy too fast.”

Theon wants to tell him it’s okay but before he can open his mouth Jon raises a hand.

“Don’t - you don’t need to panic. I don’t mean anything with it. It’s just who I am, nothing more. I would treat anyone like this.”

And for some reason this is the last thing Theon wanted to hear.

“Seafood pasta sounds great,” he says, noticing how phony it sounds now.

But Jon nods and starts getting out pans and pots. For a moment Theon watches his strong back, his hair strictly tied up, the calm way he’s working. If he closes his eyes he could exactly draw the lines of the dragon on his back.

“Can I help?”

Jon shakes his head without turning around. Theon curses himself. Something between them has changed significantly, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

They eat in silence. The food is excellent, as everything Jon makes, but every bite seems to grow bigger and bigger in Theon’s mouth, until he has trouble swallowing.

When they go to bed Jon’s hands feel different on Theon’s body, the whole thing is eerily quiet and Theon wants to slap himself silly. _I ruined it_ , he thinks when he comes, his body mechanics the only thing unbothered by the atmosphere. _I ruined the best fucking thing I ever had_.

Even if it wasn’t meant to be for long, both of them clearly not wanting a real relationship - he could’ve enjoyed it while it lasted. Instead he went and ruined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we can make a case of Theon having a lot on his mind. But the boy should really try to figure out what he wants.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a visit to the club!

The stuff he’s bought arrives in dribs and drabs along the rest of the week. Theon doesn’t unpack a single thing. Instead he hangs around in Jon’s clothes, defiantly using Jon’s stuff.

They behave around each other like robots. Jon is quiet and subdued, his face blank most of the time. It’s unnerving.

Theon wants to grab his shoulders and rattle him until he shakes a real emotion from him, a smile, a frown, anything but this disinterested expression he’s wearing.

“Don’t you want to go out some time? You’re living like an agoraphobic.”

It’s Saturday night and they’re sitting on the couch, staring at the TV. Theon shrugs. He doesn’t want to go out. He wants to stay inside and beat himself up over being a stupid asshole.

When he doesn’t get an answer Jon sighs.

“I’m going to the club tonight. I haven’t been in ages. Gendry’s having an appointment and I want to be ready if he needs patching up. _When_ he needs patching up,” Jon finishes dryly. “Wanna come?”

Theon’s ears prick up. Maybe that’s a topic where he can get some real feelings out of Jon.

“Why did you break up, you and Gendry?”

“What? Oh.” Jon is clearly surprised. “I guess we didn’t want the same things.”

It’s risky, but Theon has to try.

“Did you get too cozy with him?”

For a moment it’s dead quiet but then Jon chuckles and Theon feels relief flood his mind.

“Not cozy enough. Gen - he’s in it for the long run. A forever kind of guy. And although I really loved him - I still do - he wasn’t _my_ forever guy.”

“That’d be the boy from your childhood.”

Theon is careful to keep his voice light and politely interested. When Jon’s face flushes slightly and he starts smiling Theon wants to laugh in triumph.

“That’s what I thought for a long time. But of course it’s silly and I’m aware of the fact. For all I know he could be a serial killer nowadays. Or married with five children. Seven hells, he could be dead and I’d never know.”

Or he could think about how much he wants to kiss you right now. The thought isn’t halfway through Theon’s head when he’s already moved, has Jon’s face cupped in his hand and kisses him.

Theon’s trying to convey how sorry he is for his idiocy, how much he’s missed their easy companionship, how much he wants things to be back the way they were.

Jon pulls back first and he’s frowning. The sight is so familiar, and so, so welcome, Theon starts laughing. He’s still laughing when Jon crashes into him again, biting at his mouth, snarling against his lips.

“You idiot… you bloody idiot… I want you so much I thought I’ll burst with it.”

“You talk too much,” Theon smiles teasingly. “Way too much.”

This time it feels better than ever before, Jon moving inside him makes Theon’s whole body come alive with raw need and overwhelming pleasure.

Jon is rough, like a blaze, consuming him with his heat. A storm, a hurricane, a twister. But instead of taking Theon apart it feels more like he’s putting him back together, piece after piece, like a complicated thousand piece puzzle.

When Jon tenses against him Theon gasps, clutching at him with all his might.

“Stay, please, don’t get up, I want to… want to…”

He’s panting, not knowing how to put it into words, what it is he wants. Jon understands anyway.

“I know. Fuck, _I know_.”

 

Of course Jon has to move sooner or later. Way too soon in Theon’s eyes. When Jon asks him again if he wants to come with him to the club tonight, Theon nods.

While Jon is in the shower and Theon waits for his turn he starts tearing into the many packages he’s stacked in a corner of the bedroom. The club will mean at least Euron, at worst - Theon wants to be geared up, steeled really, for a possible meeting with Ramsay.

Finally he has unearthed everything he needs and goes to shoo Jon out of the bathroom. He indicates his own appearance with a grand gesture.

“Take one last look at this shabby creature you fished out of the gutter! The transformation begins.”

Gesticulating like a drunk magician Theon closes the door in Jon’s unamused face. Then he sets to work. It takes a good hour until he’s satisfied with the result and opens the door with a loud, “tadaaaa”.

To his dismay Jon isn’t waiting for him with bated breath. Theon finds him on the couch, already dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and black turtleneck sweater. He gives Theon what was clearly meant to be an unimpressed look but to Theon’s satisfaction he can’t keep his mouth from falling open.

Theon knows he looks good. Not his best, obviously, as he had to do his hair himself but overall he has to admit the result is pretty awesome.

Jon’ eyes wander from his leather shoes over his tight jeans up to the waisted jacket over the silk shirt and finally to Theon’s face. He gets up and comes closer, sniffing carefully.

“You smell different.”

“That, dear boy,” Theon smirks, “is what they call perfume.”

“I hardly dare to come near you,” Jon murmurs, fingers softly stroking the shirt. “You look expensive.” He shakes his head. “Like something you’re only allowed to look at, never touch.”

And somehow he’s on point with that. It’s armor, in a way. Theon fervently hopes it’ll have the same effect on everyone else. But Jon seems really shy right now and Theon strokes one finger along Jon’s cheekbone.

“You are allowed to touch. When we’re back I want you to rip that shirt off me and fuck me so good I’ll have bedhead for a week. Think you could do that?”

Jon is toying with the buttons on the shirt. He looks up, his gaze dark and intense.

“Let’s go.”

 

They take a cab to the club that Theon insists on paying, back to his old big spender image, at least a little. It still looks the same as Theon remembers, like a regular pub, some old guys clinging to their beers, a few younger people warming up for their night out. Jon nods to the barkeeper, some older guy with short grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

They take the steps down to the toilets and Jon looks over his shoulder before opening a door labeled ‘Private’.  
After he’s closed it behind them he opens a second door and it seems to give way to a different dimension.

It’s loud, rock music is blaring from speakers, voices are shouting, barking suggestions at the men in the ring centered in the large room. Jon walks over to the bar and leans over the counter.

“Hey, Giantsbane! Gimme two bearkillers?”

The barkeeper turns around. Theon has seen him before on occasions, back when he was still fighting. Now he bellows out a loud laugh.

“Thought I’d see you tonight, lad! Your boy has no chance.”

Theon’s stomach gives a silly little pang at those words. Then Giantsbane spies him behind Jon and wriggles his fiery eyebrows.

“OHO, daddy got himself a new toy! And what a toy! Not bad, Black, not bad.”

Jon coolly raises an eyebrow which prompts Giantsbane to start on their drinks. Theon takes his with growing scepticism. It seems to be alcohol topped with alcohol, mixed together with more alcohol and a little splash of alcohol. He takes a sip.

“Whoa. That definitely could kill a bear.”

Giantsbane gives him a wide grin at that, and a thumbs up. Jon leans with his back against the bar, sipping at his drink. He seems to be fully at ease, it’s like watching an animal in its natural habitat and Theon’s dick twitches at the thought of standing here, in the club, next to The Black Dread. Being able to touch him. Theon does, just because he can. Jon huffs.

“You’re like one of those fangirls. Next you’ll ask me if I can give you a lock of my hair as a souvenir.”

“Actually,” Theon says, miffed at the comparison, “I like them attached to your head. And I’m _not_ fangirling. I just think you’re hot.”

At least it’s bloody hot in the cellar and before long Theon has to take off his nice jacket. He glances over at Jon who looks as comfortable as ever in his jumper. He’s not even sweating. He just looks so fucking good Theon wants nothing more than to jump him right then and there.

A loud roar and then thunderous applause and cheering tells them the current fight is over and Jon pushes himself up from the bar. With a jerk of his head he indicates Theon to follow him.

People make way for them the moment they recognize Jon and soon they’re directly in front of the ring. Theon has never been that close before. It smells like sweat, blood and testosterone.

Gendry is waving at them from the other side where he’s hopping around, stretching and tilting his head back and forth.

“Who’s he fighting?” Theon has to shout over the music and voices.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jon blinks. “Gen has challenged The Reaver.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't think poor Jon gave in too easily... But could you stay mad at Theon lounging about your flat? I know I couldn't.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @half_life - my disturbing infatuation with Jon/Euron is entirely your fault^^

Suddenly Theon feels like a child again, dread coiling in his gut, cold sweat breaking out on his skin. He fears for the nice, laughing Gendry, but a part of him is breathless in anticipation.

Euron’s entry is grand, the man is as much a legend in here as Ice had been, or The Fist of the Morning. People grow silent as The Reaver makes his way to the ring. He doesn’t stop in the middle though, he walks straight up to where Theon is standing.

“Hello nephew. It’s been too long. Why don’t you give your uncle a kiss?”

He has changed, a lot. Not only does he look older, but also - impossibly - harder. He’s wearing an eye patch like a damn pirate and his former long hair has been cropped short.

Only his grin is the same, a shark’s grin, showing strong white teeth between faintly bluish lips. It makes Theon shudder, but when Euron leans over to embrace him he doesn't flinch back. This is familiar, or at least family. If not the nice, loving kind.

Euron straightens up and his eye wanders over to Jon. His stance becomes different immediately, cautious and intimidating at the same time. He reaches out and trails one finger softly over Jon’s cheek. Jon doesn’t flinch, watches him, unmoved.

“Aah, The Black Dread.” Euron’s sigh almost sounds orgiastic, layered with too many different shades for Theon’s liking.

“So young…” The wandering fingers close around Jon’s chin, tilt his head up. “So pretty…” A thumb is swiped teasingly over Jon’s mouth. Euron leans in until his face is barely an inch from Jon’s. His whisper is low enough Theon can hardly understand it. “I’d give everything to bury my fist in that mouth, to split these perfect lips, to smash your ribs to dust.”

Jon’s eyes are cold and when Euron removes his hand from his face he curls his lips into a frightening parody of a smile.

“I see the rumours are not doing you justice, Reaver. But as enticing as your offer might be,” he takes a step back and bows his head, “I respectfully decline.”

Theon holds his breath. He remembers the one time when his uncle was declined something. It didn’t go down well. But Euron surprises him, he throws his head back and laughs, the sound making Theon’s skin prickle. Danger.

“Shame. I guess I have to content myself with this charming fellow.” He turns around and winks at Gendry who has been watching the scene with visible discomfort. “I hope he’s worth my while.”

The first few seconds Theon can barely look. Euron toys with Gendry like a cat with a mouse. His defence is casual, his few attacks half-hearted. Gendry’s weight and built which normally would work in his favour give him a disadvantage here.

He charges at Euron like a bull, straight and forceful, and suddenly he manages to land a blow on Euron’s side. Euron’s laugh howls over the beat of the music and Theon knows what’s to come. Euron will fight now.

Blow after blow strikes Gendry’s torso, his arms, his face. Both men are bare-chested, glinting with sweat, and in Gendry’s case blood. He manages to strike Euron’s jaw and Theon can see it in his uncle’s face - he grows tired of this.

With a half-step Euron avoids Gendry’s next charge, then turns and thunders his fist into Gendry’s neck. With a cry he stills, his knees give in and he’s down.

When The Reaver has been declared the winner, Euron walks over and reaches his hand out to Gendry. To Theon’s surprise Gendry takes it and pulls himself up. He’s grinning, shaking Euron’s hand now enthusiastically.

He walks out, slightly wobbly but upright. A hand on his arm has Theon jump. Jon tugs on his sleeve and they follow Gendry to the side where he’s sitting on a bench against the wall. When he sees them coming he gives a small wave.

“Wow. Just… wow.”

“Was it as good as you always imagined?” Jon asks sarcastically.

Gendry chooses to ignore the sarcasm.

“Better,” he sighs happily. “The Reaver is everything I thought he would be.”

“Let’s see what we have to do here,” Jon mutters in his nurse’s voice. “How’s your neck?”

“Feels attached to my head.” Gendry still winces when Jon touches his neck. “Easy, killer!”

“Tender. Going to hurt for a while, but no serious damage.” Jon turns a little in Theon’s direction, not looking at him.

“Go to Tormund - Giantsbane - and have him give you my bag, will you?”

Theon is slightly taken aback, but he still goes. Giantsbane hands him a small bag and a huge glass of whisky, nearly half a pint.

“Tell Warhammer he can get one more tonight, but that’s it.”

Gendry groans when Theon sulkily delivers the message, feeling like some bloody errand boy.

“But _why_?” He yowls when Jon starts dabbing iodine on a cut below his eye. “Tormund of all people should know I can handle my whisky!”

“Shut up, Gen,” Jon shushes him. “A fucking pint of whisky should be enough even for you.”

“Enough to wet my throat, you mean. Ouch!” Gendry cries out when Jon prods at a tear in his eyebrow. “This hurts!”

“There’s a lot more that’ll hurt you tomorrow. Can’t do anything about the bruises all over your chest. Pod will faint when he sees you.”

“Oops!” Gendry jumps up despite Jon’s protests. “I forgot about Pod! He’s here somewhere. You haven’t seen him by chance?”

Jon stares at him in disbelief.

“You brought your fiancé to watch you fight _The Reaver_? Really, Gen. That’s insensitive, even for you. He’s probably fainted and lying around somewhere.”

Gendry kisses Jon quickly on his mouth before clapping Theon’s back so hard he nearly falls over.

“Thanks, killer! Theon, see ya!”

With that he’s off, presumably to search for his possibly unconscious fiancé. Theon watches him with a faint feeling of displeasure, frowning at Gendry’s back while he makes his way through the crowd. Jon elbows him.

“Anything the matter?”

Theon shakes his head, but of course something’s the matter. Gendry should really stop kissing Jon like this. He wonders what the mysterious, delicate Pod has to say to this kind of behaviour. But he shakes the thought from his head and smirks at Jon as casually as he manages. Jon looks back with a deadpan expression, absolutely unfooled.

“Wanna go home?” he asks, slowly moving his hand over Theon’s arm. “This shirt is tragically still intact.”

They make their way through the thronged room so Jon can give the bag back to Giantsbane to store it for him. When they approach the bar Theon sees Euron casually chatting with -

Time seems to slow down and Theon can feel the blood rush from his face. His heart is beating faster and faster and his pulse is racing. His chest tightens to the point where he cannot get enough air to breathe.

“Theon?” Jon’s voice, dim over the drumming in his ears. “Theon, what’s the matter?”

Theon doesn’t trust his own voice, he just jerks his chin in Euron’s direction. Jon’s gaze follows his and Theon can feel him bristle beside him. All of a sudden he has his back to them and Jon is staring at him, holding both his arms tightly.

“Look at me.” Theon does and shudders at the expression on Jon’s face. Jon continues. “We will go over there now, okay? Try not to let him see your fear. Try to smile.”

“C-can’t,” Theon stammers. “He hates it when I smile.”

“All the more reason for you to smile as widely as you can. You’re not his to torment anymore, you understand? You are yourself, nothing else.”

When Theon looks away, Jon’s voice becomes impatient.

“ _Theon_. Come on, get yourself together. You’re here with me, okay?”

Slowly Theon nods. This is true. He’s here with The Black Dread. Who could take Ramsay apart in a second. There’s nothing to fear. Nothing can happen to him.

The moment Ramsay lays eyes on Theon he knows he’s been lying to himself. There’s _everything_ to fear. Ramsay smiles.

“My, my. If that isn’t a lovely sight. Hello, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urrrrgh. I hate to do this to them. Ramsay, that is. But plot says I have to.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just... urgh. Sorry Theon -.-

Theon swallows, fighting the impulse to drop down onto his knees. Ramsay must notice, he cackles like a witch.

“I see you haven’t completely forgotten your… training, hm? Pity we’re in company. I’d love to see what you remember. I missed you, darling.”

Jon ever so slightly moves until he’s standing halfway between Theon and Ramsay. Ramsay smiles a toothy smile that makes Theon’s skin crawl.

“Naw… a bodyguard? Sweet, sugar, sweet. Are you fucking my darling, Blacky?” he asks Jon with a wink.

“Watch your mouth, Skinner,” Jon answers calmly.

Euron has watched the exchange with growing amusement. Now he tuts at Theon.

“Really, my boy. Hasn’t even the lovely Skinner here managed to make a man out of you?”

“A man,” Theon says, toneless. “You asked him to ‘take care of me’ to make a _man_ out of me.”

Ramsay giggles at that and Theon feels sick, sick with anger and shame. What Ramsay had done to him had caused quite the opposite. And it’s still there, inside him. For a sick moment Theon wants to throw himself down at Ramsay’s feet, wants to beg forgiveness and plead with him to _take care_ of him again.

Jon’s hand wanders to his backside, coming to lie where Ramsay had marked him all those years ago. A warning, a reminder. The motion brings Theon back to the present, to Ramsay whispering something in Euron’s ear. Euron’s wearing a baffled and slightly disturbed expression now. Before he can say anything a loud voice startles them all.

“What an illustrious party.”

Robb Stark has joined them at the bar, bumping Jon with his shoulder and nodding at Theon. He shakes hands with Ramsay and finally starts beaming at Euron.

“Reaver, it’s a pleasure. More than a pleasure.”

Euron slowly starts smiling again. Theon can see he’s amused by Robb’s enthusiasm.

“Who you are is obvious. Strawberry, right? Ice’s eldest son.” He extends a hand to Robb who grabs it with a delighted grin. “It’s _my_ pleasure, boy. Are you as good as your father?”

“Not even close,” Robb laughs. “Jon’s the one in this generation who got all the good genes for fighting. I’m better at coaching, strategies and such.”

Euron’s gaze brushes Jon who’s still trying to shield Theon from Ramsay. Jon’s face is a mask of indifference but at Robb’s remark he rolls his eyes. Theon can’t help the little smile ghosting across his face at that. Ramsay sighs deeply.

“Oh no. Thought I told you not to do that, sugar. Do I have to show you again what happens if you do that?”

Jon growls deep in his chest.

“What’ll happen, Skinner, if you don’t shut your bloody mouth now, is my fist meeting your face.” He turns to Theon. “Let’s go. You don’t need to listen to his nonsense.”

With a brief hug for Robb and a cold glare at Euron Jon drags Theon away from them.

“See you soon, little Theon,” Euron calls after them.

They take another cab home. The sky has started to get lighter in the east. Jon is eerily quiet. Theon keeps giving him little side glances, but Jon clearly avoids looking at him.

They’re not even through the door of the flat before Jon has Theon by the collar of his shirt, pinning him against the wall. He looks angry, his eyes nearly black.

“You wanted to go to him. You wanted to drop down and cower at his feet like some sick kicked dog crawling back to its master. You wanted him to take you and… and…”

Jon can barely speak through his rage. Theon’s hands come to close around Jon’s on his shirt.

“To beat me up until I forget my own name. To threaten me with flaying my cock off because I won’t need it when I’m with him. To break my teeth because he hates my smile. To fuck me into the dirt because that’s where I belong.”

Although Theon hears himself speak, it feels like it’s someone else saying all that horrible stuff. A part of his brain registers Jon’s horrified face with a silent chuckle. Innocent boy! And then he says the most horrible thing of all.

“Yes, for a moment I wanted him to take me. To use me, to break me, whatever he wants. No care in the world but to please him, no other worries than how to satisfy him.”

Jon lets go of Theon’s shirt, but Theon holds his hand in place.

“Do you know how it feels, to be utterly dependent on another human being? Not as a child, but as a grown man? It’s horrible. It’s addictive. It’s for people like me. People who are weak.”

Theon releases Jon’s hand with a sigh. He expects him to drop it, to drop _him_ like a hot iron. Instead Jon nearly sends him out of his skin when his hands come up to cup Theon’s face and he draws him down onto his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers against Theon’s skin, “I’m an idiot, I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“You didn’t know. Couldn’t know.” Theon smirks lopsidedly. “Seems like even Euron didn’t know.”

“I thought it’s not possible,” Jon mumbles. Theon’s not sure if he’s talking to him or himself. Jon looks up. “I want you even more, now that I know.”

“Know? How fucked up I am?”

Jon shakes his head.

“How fucking strong you are.”

Theon doesn’t laugh at him then, even if he should. It’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, anyone has ever said to him. But Jon means it, clearly means what he’s saying, and for a moment Theon lets himself be fooled.

Jon doesn’t rip the buttons off Theon’s shirt that night. Instead he slowly opens one after the other, as if unpacking a special present. And it’s good, better than good, to feel this wanted.

Theon lies awake a long while after Jon has fallen asleep. They have the blinds shut. It looks naked and impersonal. _Curtains_ , Theon thinks. _We need curtains. And maybe a nice rug._

A loud thump, then a crash has him sit up. For a moment Theon listens with a racing heart. A burglar? An uncle? Ramsay? Jon is still sleeping like the dead. Really, a bomb dropping right on top of him couldn’t wake him.

Slowly Theon gets up and creeps into the hall, his shaking hand searching for the lightswitch. When his eyes have adjusted to the sudden brightness he sees absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

He sneaks down the hall and into the living room, turning that light on as well. At first he sees nothing unusual there too - until he looks over to the kitchen unit. Theon starts laughing.

Tyrion is sitting amidst a collection of pans, looking sheepishly at Theon. He goes to scoop him up.

“How on earth did you do that? Has Jon left the cabinet open? You kitties need a scratchpost or something.”

Now he’s wide awake, so he carries Tyrion to the couch and settles down with the cat in his lap. Tyrion’s tongue is poking out again and he purrs like a prop plane. It doesn’t take long for the other two cats to find them and Cersei immediately cuffs Tyrion’s ear.

“Hey, hey! Be nice to your brother, there’s more than enough Theon to go around, okay?”

A chuckle has Theon look up. Jon is standing in the door, leaning against the frame.

“Why are you awake?” Theon asks. “I hope it wasn’t us?”

“No,” Jon shakes his head. “I just woke up. Mind if I join you lot?”

He sits on Theon’s cat-free side, carefully eyeing Cersei who has successfully taken over Theon’s lap. She narrows her eyes at Jon, her tail whipping around.

“Cersei.”

Theon tries to make his voice sound stern and for a moment Cersei’s ears flatten before she decidedly turns her back on Jon and lies down again. Jon laughs.

“I swear I’ve never seen her being nice to anyone but you. She likes you. Cat whisperer.”

Theon strokes her under her chin and she starts purring, treading her paws against his thigh.

“I like her too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an asshole cat like Cersei once. She hated everyone but me and would swat at our poor dog when she came for a cuddle. The dog was terrified of her :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few new career choices for Theon: interior designer, cat whisperer, biggest coward alive.

When Jon has left for work Theon again curses the loss of his phone. He really should get himself a new one. But before that he takes a notepad and a pen out of one of the kitchen drawers and starts his mission.

One room after the other he studies critically, then writes down what he thinks is needed. And that’s a lot. The bedroom is the barest of all, there’s absolutely nothing in there that says anything personal.

Although... Theon can’t exactly say he would want the picture of Jon and Gendry standing around. _We should take one_ , he thinks, then slaps his head. What good would that be? Just some stupid memory of a good time that eventually ended. Eventually will end.

When he’s done with his tour he walks out, using the keys Jon has left for him. While he’s walking down the street to find a cab, Theon can’t quite quench the uneasy feeling in his gut. Behind every bush, every parked car he suspects an uncle, or worse.

He makes it to the homeware store unscathed and feeling rather silly for his fretting. The next hour he happily rummages through shelves and displays until he’s found everything on his list.

He takes most of the stuff with him, only the scratchpost he signs up for delivery. With a number of large bags he goes back, stopping at an electronics shop for a new phone.

Jon’ll be home soon so Theon just chucks the bags under the bed and spends the rest of the time setting up his phone. It’s strange, not having one single number to save into his address book. He really should start memorizing stuff like that. Or finally get over his nerves and go get his laptop.

  
When Jon is getting ready to leave the next day Theon is already hovering, all but shoving Jon out of the door to get started already. Jon seems confused.

“Are you that desperate to get rid of me today? Expecting company or what?”

“Yes,” Theon sighs, impatient. _Why is he still here?_ “I’m having an orgy and the first guests will be here soon.”

“With togas and all?”

Jon grins and ducks his head from Theon’s smack.

“Alright, I’m out!”

Theon gets to work immediately. After four hours he’s dirty and sweaty and exhausted but the result is really good.

The scratchpost has been delivered at some point during his refurbishing orgy and Cersei is already enthroned on top of a large kitty castle, watching her inferiors from high up.

The last thing to unpack is the painting Theon bought from that art gallery, and he hangs it opposite the bed, above the dresser. He’s still not sure about this one thing, but has decided to ignore any hidden meaning or symbolism. It just looks fucking awesome, so what the hell.

The rest of his stuff he’s packed away in the closet and after he’s thrown out the packaging and spent another agonizing hour vacuuming the flat, Theon’s finally satisfied.

He lingers nearly half an hour in the shower, humming to himself and talking to Jaime who’s made himself comfortable on the new fluffy bathroom rug. There’s a lot of meowing going on and Theon chuckles by the thought of the cat talking back to him.

That is, until he pulls back the new shower curtain with a map of Westeros to find Cersei there too, Jaime on her back, the two beasts obviously going at it. Or at least pretending to. Theon jumps at them.

“ _Jaime!!_ Off of her! You guys… that’s gross, Jaime, you can’t just shag your sister!”

Cersei has already made herself scarce, but Jaime is still cowering on the rug.

“Don’t look at me like that, mate. If it were your cousin or aunt I’d say go for it, but your _sister_!”

Theon sighs.

“Good thing you can’t make babies anymore or we’d have a brood of horrible inbred monsters.”

Jon’s voice from outside startles him.

“Theon? Is the orgy still on or are you talking to yourself?”

“DON’T MOVE!” Theon shouts in panic. Jon shouldn’t be home already! “Have you been to the bedroom yet?”

“No?” Jon sounds startled. “Why, is it full of rubbers and dildos?”

“Oh shut up. Be a good boy and go back to the kitchen, okay?”

The kitchen area is good, he hasn’t changed anything there and the living room. Except for a lovely cashmere blanket on the couch, and the scratchpost, which explains Jon’s loud, “What the fuck?” Theon hastens to wrap the towel around his waist then rushes out. Jon is staring at the castle, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

“What. Is. This.”

“A kitty castle?” Theon points to Tyrion dozing in some sort of hammock, like a drawbridge between two castle towers. “They love it.”

“It eats up half the living space in here,” Jon says, incredulous. “And it’s pink.”

Theon’s heart sinks.

“You don’t like it.”

His consternation must be obvious, for Jon turns around quickly.

“I knew pink was your colour. Thanks. I guess it was overdue to give them something like this.” He frowns. “Maybe they’ll stop scratching at the couch now. Not that I care about the couch, but… you know.”

“Want to see the rest?” Theon feels giddy with excitement. “Come on!”

When Jon enters the bedroom he stops dead in his tracks. And stares. And stares. He’s quiet for so long Theon gets nervous again. Maybe Jon doesn’t like the fluffy rug. Or the heavy, dark blue curtains. Or the damn painting. Or the black and white artsy photos above the bed.

Maybe he doesn’t like the black satin sheets Theon just couldn’t pass by, imagining how Jon’s white skin would look against them. Or maybe he doesn’t like anything of this. What was he thinking? Theon’s stomach tightens, suddenly he’s aware of how this must look.

A near stranger stumbling into Jon’s life, burdening him with their sob story, hiding away at his flat like a coward because of some idiotic family feud, and now the stranger even has the audacity to decorate his bedroom. If anything of this had ever happened to Theon he would have flipped his shit completely. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Theon.” Jon’s voice is calm. Theon prepares himself for a verbal punch. “This is going to make it fucking hard when you’re leaving eventually.”

_What?_

Jon turns around and it could be Theon’s imagination, but he’s blinking a lot.

“I’m already in love with it. It looks amazing. You really have a talent for that, you know? I’ll be sad...” Jon swallows. “I’ll be sad when it’s gone.”

“It won’t be gone. I won’t take anything of that with me.”

“That’s a very generous gift, then,” Jon says quietly. “Thank you.”

Theon wakes up in the middle of the night again, this time to Jon standing at the dresser. The upper drawer is open and _the box_ is standing on top of the dresser. Jon is not looking at it. He’s looking at the painting. Slowly Theon sits up and skids to the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?” Jon turns his head a little. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t want to wake you. I’m just… re-evaluating some things. About my… about the boy from when I got lost. I’ve some stuff here that reminds me of him. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye to a fantasy.”

_Tell him!_

Theon flinches at the thought shooting through his head. No way, he thinks. He can’t, Jon would get too attached to him when he thinks - when he _knows_ \- that Theon is the man he’s been dreaming of all his life. And the day Theon walks out, Jon would inevitably get damaged. Theon likes him enough to not want this to happen.

_Or you could just stop pussyfooting around and stay._

Theon shakes his head, appalled at himself. Now is now and then is then, and nobody knows what’ll happen the next day, or the next week. Eventually he’ll have to solve the predicament he’s in, talk to his uncles and settle this whole fucked up business. And then he’ll no longer have to hole up in here.

He won’t need Jon anymore. There’s still the sex, which is awesome, but you can’t live your whole life with someone just because you like the sex. Which is bound to stop somewhere down the road in any case. There’s got to be something more, and something more is not a phrase on Theon’s bucket list.

He keeps his mouth shut. After all, that’s what wills were invented for. Theon can already see it in cold print.

_I leave all my stuff and money to my sister Asha if she’s been able to drag her ass to my funeral, if not just burn the junk - and oh, could someone please tell Jon that I was the guy with the wristband? Cool, thanks._

For now he just gets up and wraps his arms around Jon’s waist. He hooks his chin over Jon’s shoulder and looks down at the yellow sweater. He doesn’t see the wristband but he knows it’s there.

“Don’t throw it away just yet. It’s still a nice memory, even if you no longer think of this guy every time you wish upon a star.”

“Bastard.” Jon’s voice is choked, but he laughs. “Who told you that I do that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's pretty stubborn, huh? What's your opinion, should Theon have told Jon? Or is it wise of him to keep his mouth shut about this?


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. There I was, writing this story and thought, okay time to get the uncle-plotline going, when Jon Snow suddenly took over. Plot? Where is it?

Jon has the next day off and at breakfast Theon considers it is time to do something he really should’ve done a lot sooner.

“I think I should go and check on my apartment today. I haven’t been there in ages.”

That’s actually a pretty normal thing, given how much he always had been away partying with his acquaintances, but it has really started to gnaw on him now. He needs to see if his uncles have been there. And, besides…

“I need to get a few things.”

“Alright.” Jon sips at his coffee. “I did wonder when you were going to give up your hermit life. Want me to drive you?”

“That,” Theon smirks, “is exactly what I hoped you’d say. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Nah.” Jon shrugs. “I’m curious to see your flat.”

When he does see it, Jon forgets he’s normally the quiet, brooding sort of guy.

“Holy shit! The size of this - how can you even _bear_ my flat? I mean, how many rooms does this have?” He points at the stairs. “Don’t tell me you have _two floors_! Shit! I mean, I knew you’re not short of a bob or two, but this is… damn!” He rounds the corner into one of the bedrooms. “FUCK ME, this bed is big! Can we do it on this bed? I didn’t even know there are beds this size!”

“Will you shut up then?” Theon laughs.

There’s no sign anyone’s been here in his absence, which really is a huge relief. He’s packed his laptop, some of his favourite books and his important-documents-folder. There’s only one thing left to get, but that can wait until they’re done in here. Jon all but rips his clothes off, then starts at Theon’s, tearing at his shirt.

“What’s gotten into you, man?” Theon feels baffled but sure as hell won’t protest. “Is it the apartment? The bed? Or the idea of fucking someone who could buy your life? Joking!”

“Yes. I mean, fuck. All of it. Damn, help me with your jeans, they’re way too tight.”

Chuckling, Theon peels his jeans off, then lets Jon fling him across the bed. He’s over him in a heartbeat, kissing the living daylight out of him, sucking his nipples so hard Theon has to bite back a ridiculously loud moan. Then Jon flops onto his back.

“Come here. I want you to ride my cock until you scream. Come on, where’s your stuff?”

Theon scrambles for the lube he has in every bedside table, then moves to straddle Jon’s hips. Jon all but rips it from his hands, slicking his cock.

“Fuck… I can’t wait for another moment - please, Theon…”

“Just fuck me already,” Theon says, completely floored by Jon’s urgency.

Jon obliges with a force that nearly sends Theon off the bed, he screams out, but in the next moment Jon’s hands are on his hips, his fingers digging into his skin hard, holding him in place. For a moment neither of them moves, Jon panting, Theon too stunned to do anything. Then Jon growls and thrusts up hard.

“Come on! I want you to move, I want you to fuck yourself on my cock until you can’t take it anymore, I want you to come so hard you’ll never want anything else in your life ever again but this, me, everything.”

Theon can’t believe what he’s hearing. Jon sounds like a different person, desperate and demanding. He can’t do anything but follow. Slowly at first but quickly picking up pace he pulls himself up and down on Jon’s length, raking his fingers over Jon’s chest. Jon groans, bucking his hips and Theon does it again and again.

He’s coming down hard onto Jon’s dick now, his thighs are burning from the strain and his throat has started to ache from his raw moans, but there’s nothing in the world that could stop him from going. Jon’s eyes are black, fixed on Theon, his gasps and groans coming loud and fast, his fingers are digging into Theon’s ass to pull him down even further.

Now Jon’s still slicked hand wraps around Theon’s dick and for a moment he thinks he’ll come right then and there. His movements become faster, Jon’s grip on him tightens and Jon cries out.

“Theon… now, come for me, I need you to, oh fuck-”

He has no other choice but to obey, with a last push down his heart takes off in his chest and although his eyes are wide open he’s blind for a second. He comes to to Jon glaring up at him between ragged breaths, his dick slowly softening inside Theon. Jon sits up, despite Theon’s come smeared all over his stomach, and wraps his arms around him tightly, kissing him for a long time, until their heartbeats have quieted down.

“Don’t leave,” Jon says, pressed. “Don’t leave just yet.”

  
“Isn’t this heartbreaking. I can’t remember the last time I had to fight back my tears like now.”

Their heads whip around at the voice coming from the door. Euron is leaning in the door frame, smiling his disturbing smile at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. There he is. The plot.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Lots of plot here. And lots of uncles.

He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, apparently wildly amused by their shocked expressions. Theon feels as if someone has poured a bucket of ice water over his head. His arms wind around Jon instinctively, searching to steady himself. He makes to grab the blanket to cover them, but Euron shakes his finger.

“Oh, Theon, don’t leave just yet,” he drawls mockingly. “I’ve come to talk to you, it wouldn’t be very polite to just leave me standing here, hm?”

“Can we at least get dressed?” Jon grits out between his teeth.

Euron pretends to consider that.

“Know what? Theon, get dressed. Seriously, you should think about joining a gym, my boy. Get some muscles on that rake. As for you, Black... I’d rather you stay just like you are now.”

“Uncle, you can’t-”

“I can and I will if you don’t shut your bloody mouth and do as I say. _Now_.”

“Do what he says,” Jon mumbles without taking his eyes off Euron. “This’ll be over much sooner if we play along.”

“Clever boy.” Euron smiles. He waits until Theon is back in his jeans and shirt, then whistles. “Oi, Vic! Time to get down to brass tacks.”

Theon looks on in disbelief as his other two uncles file into the room. Aeron seems uncomfortable, Victarion indifferent. Euron is still leering at Jon who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, cool as a cucumber, his chin propped up on his arms resting on his knees. Theon can only admire him, he himself being on the edge of blacking out with fear.

After an uncomfortable silence, Victarion finally speaks.

“You disappoint us, Theon. Why would you hide from your family? Have I ever given you any reason to mistrust me? Whatever. I wonder you didn’t even want to know what your father’s will said. Do you want to know?”

Out of the corner of his eye Theon sees Jon nodding slightly and does the same. Euron chuckles.

“Good. Well, he’s left everything to you.” Victarion sounds bored. “Under a certain condition.”

When Theon only stares at him in disbelief he continues, rolling his eyes.

“You have to bring out a story that is big enough to up the circulation of your father’s flagship newspaper. In six months. To, I quote, _prove your worth as a Greyjoy_. And believe me, boy, that needs to be a really big thing.” Victarion coughs. “If you fail at this all of the enterprise will be divided between Euron, Aeron and me.”

“Then why,” Theon asks, exhausted, “then why the fuck don’t you just wait the fucking six months and be done with it? Why all this spectacle? I don’t want it!”

“I’m not done yet.” Victarion scowls. “If you try and succeed you get the enterprise. If you try and fail you get a one-off compensation. You’ll never have to work a day in your damn, useless life if you're clever about it. But if you don’t try - neither you nor we get anything at all.”

“So you’re saying you want me to try and fail?”

“Exactly. Now,” Victarion turns his dull face to Euron who’s still letting his gaze roam up and down Jon’s body. “Euron, stop perving, we’re done, the boy knows the deal. He won’t disappoint us.”

Euron grins, eye sparkling. “Not in that regard he won’t.”

“What the fuck makes you so sure of this?” Theon can’t believe what he’s hearing. They have all gone nuts. “Why would I help you?”

“First,” Victarion says, “you need the money too. And second? I am your mother’s legal guardian now. And it’s in my power entirely what happens to her. Will she stay in that nice, cozy but immensely expensive facility she’s in now? Will her son be allowed to visit her there? Or will I be forced to move her to a cheaper place, where they don’t treat their patients with… the needed care. It’s up to you, Theon.”

Theon swallows. They have him. He can’t do anything but agree. But before he can open his mouth an amused voice from behind Victarion has him think his mind is playing tricks on him.

“A family party! And I wasn’t invited, I can’t believe it.”

Asha marches in as if she had been gone for ten minutes, not ten years. She kisses her uncles on their cheeks, then Theon, before she looks over at Jon, grinning much in the same fashion as Euron.

“Is it my birthday already? You shouldn’t have.”

To Theon’s surprise Jon starts grinning too at that. Asha sits down next to him and places her hand firmly on his naked thigh. Jon doesn’t even flinch but Theon can feel himself bristle, despite the fucked up situation they’re in. Damn his jealousy!

“I heard many interesting things when I was listening to you from the hall, uncle Vic. Now, let’s see.” Her hand is slowly stroking up Jon’s thigh. He looks like he’s about to laugh out loud. “Yes, I know! Theon will promise to try and fail this bloody business and then he’s free and can do what he likes. Which is you I guess,” she purrs at Jon who bites his lip. “To show your goodwill, uncle Vic, you’ll call that facility and let me and Theon see mother to confirm that you’re not lying.”

Theon wants to tell her that he’s already been there and done that but Jon glares at him so hard he quickly shuts his mouth. Right. Victarion seems to be on board with that proposal, he’s just about to reach out to shake Asha’s hand in agreement when Asha smiles.

“Ah, one more thing. Until this thing is over I will personally call on the office every day. Did you hang up a portrait of father yet? Good. I dreamed of this time for so long and this is my chance of making my dream come true. Deal?”

Victarion shakes her hand.

“Deal.”

When they finally have left, Euron with a last leer and a “Until soon, Black!” towards Jon, Asha sighs and finally takes her hand off Jon.

“Fuck. Those idiots are worse than before, I swear it. Except Euron maybe, the madman. He’s always been the worst of the worst. Do you feel like taking a shower?” she asks Jon.

“I’m fine.” He grins at her teasingly. “Your fumbling proved a nice enough antidote.”

To his horror Theon hears himself hiss at that. Jon breaks out into laughter.

“Baby, you should’ve seen your face. All of a sudden you went from frightened boy to alpha dog. I was just waiting for you to piss on the floor.”

“That’s not funny!” Theon can feel his face redden, not least because of Jon addressing him as baby, _in front of his older sister,_ and totally on purpose, the bastard. “You don’t know her, she’s the biggest pervert in the family.”

“Is that so.” Jon cocks an eyebrow. “Relax, Theon. I’m not planning on finding out, okay?”

“I’ll have you reminded I’m still here,” Asha cuts in a little sourly.

Theon turns to look at her, really taking the time to study her face. She’s older, of course she is, but apart from that it’s the same face he remembers from his teenage years. The same hard look, the same wide mouth as his own. Now that mouth slowly starts smiling and before he knows what he’s doing he’s caught her in a tight embrace.

“I’ve missed you, dickhead,” she says when Theon finally lets go of her. “Tell me of mother. I’ve seen that.” She motions at Jon and Theon, then her eyes.

“Mother really is alive. She’s in a sanatorium in White Harbour. She… she’s not well, mentally. Apparently she confuses a lot of things. Lives in her own world. I snuck in to visit her.”

Asha’s smile vanishes, her eyes sparkle with rage.

“If the old fucker wasn’t already dead I’d murder him now for lying to us like that. I’m halfway tempted to just dig up his rotting corpse to... “ She sighs. “Whatever. We’ll give uncle Vic until tomorrow to arrange our visit there, alright?”

Jon has been quiet for a while. Now he clears his throat.

“I can drive you up again if you like. If I’m not in the way.”

Asha turns to give him a lewd smile.

“ _You_ are allowed in my way anytime, sweetheart.”

“Yes, we got that.” Theon scoffs. “Can we go home now? I, for one, do need a shower, and something to eat. Jon?”

“Yes, sure. Just let me dress, one moment. Didn’t you want to get some more things?”

While Jon slips into his clothes Theon leaves for his own bedroom. There on the bed, neatly folded, lies the quilt his mother has made for him when he was little. Carefully he packs it into his large bag with his other things and returns to Asha and Jon.

“I guess if you’re over at Mister Marvellous’ flat I can crash here, right?” Asha asks.

“My place is your place,” Theon says, “anything as long as you don’t want to stay at Jon’s too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole that whole try-and-fail thing from some book I read some time, but as much as I'm wracking my brain I can't remember which it was. There's been so many books ^^'


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sap: *comes a-knocking*  
> Me: *barrs the door*  
> Sap: *has a bazooka*  
> Me: ...alright, come in. -.-

“Theon?” Jon looks strangely nervous while they’re driving back to his flat. “What I said before they… I didn’t…” He sighs. “Are you very freaked out?”

Theon blinks. The whole uncle ordeal and Asha’s unexpected return has pretty much erased what has happened before. He wracks his brain for Jon’s exact words. When he finds them he feels his heart beat a little faster, not a bad feeling at all.

“I’m not leaving yet,” he finally says, not looking at Jon. He can still feel his smile.

“Good.”

  
Asha calls Theon not long after they’ve left his apartment. Apparently Victarion has kept his word and they are expected at the White Harbour Sanatorium this week.

Jon has off work again in two days. Theon can barely wait to see his mother again. He means to take the quilt, hoping it stirs something in her memory and makes her see the connection.

He’s started thinking of a story that’s good enough to make him look like he’s really trying but not good enough to really hit. Jon isn’t exactly helpful.

“How about,” he says later, through a mouthful of lasagna, “you actually try to succeed?” He swallows. “Wouldn’t be too shabby to own all that. You could always leave your uncles in charge, with a fat paycheck every month, and enjoy life.”

Theon shakes his head.

“They’d never let me see mother again if I thwart their game.”

“Yeah, about that.” Jon sighs, stacking up their plates. “I might’ve talked to Robb, he studied law for a couple of terms. He looked it up for me. And there’s actually a high chance you or Asha would be able to get custody if you sue for it.”

“You think?” Theon tries to quell the flutter of hope he feels at these words.

“Yep. We’d have to talk to Mr. Reed. He’s my uncle’s lawyer.”

“Sounds familiar.” Then it hits. “Wait, Howland Reed? The guy that sued my dad?”

“The very one.” Jon can’t help a smug grin and Theon smacks him. Jon ducks. “Hey! Anyway, he’s the best. Shall we ask him?”

“If you believe he can do it…” Theon sighs. “Do you think I could bring her home? Like, not here but if I bought a house…”

“Well,” Jon looks at him with a strange expression, “You could, I suppose. You’d have to hire a nurse or someone to look after her though.”

“Yeah.” Theon sighs. “I guess I couldn’t do it myself.” He looks up at Jon still studying him with sympathy. “I’m tired. I’ll… I’m going to bed.”

He can feel Jon’s gaze on him as he goes, but he doesn’t look back. And when Jon joins him half an hour or so later he pretends to be asleep. He ignores Jon’s hand on his hip, his lips on his neck, his low sigh when Theon doesn’t stir.

In the morning he shies away from Jon’s touch again. Jon doesn’t ask him what’s wrong. He places his hand on Theon’s head for a moment, softly stroking his hair before leaving him alone.

Theon knows it’s stupid. It’s not as if Jon would be sleeping with him if he wasn’t attracted to him, and he knows he looks good. At least with the right clothes on.

He spends a large portion of the day trying on one outfit after the other, cursing the lack of a full body mirror in Jon’s flat. Finally he settles on dark grey jeans and a tight red sweater over a black shirt. Not too bad. He really needs to call Loras these days, his poor hairstylist will probably have a stroke when he sees him.

When the doorbell rings Theon presses the button in surprise. Has Jon forgotten his keys? He opens the door to - not to Jon, apparently. Instead there’s a huge flat package, talking with Jon’s voice.

“Don’t stare at me like an idiot, let me in,” it says grumpily.

Baffled, Theon steps aside. Jon is more or less hanging on the other side of the… thing. It seems to be heavy, Jon’s face is red and he’s panting.

“It’s okay,” he groans, carrying the thing to the bedroom, “no help needed at all.”

“Okay,” Theon says, following him curiously. What on earth is he up to now?

He finds out when Jon starts ripping the cardboard off the thing, revealing a - full body mirror. Theon turns to him in shock.

“Okay, where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The chip!” Theon exclaims. “The chip you somehow planted in my brain to read my mind even when you’re out!”

Jon stares at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Just today I thought we need a mirror like that,” Theon explains.

“Ah.” Jon nods. “Sorry to disappoint you, mate, but the mirror is something _I_ need.” He slowly looks Theon up and down, twice. “I need a shower but I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

Theon takes the time to examine his outfit from every possible angle. Yep, still good. Jon seemed appreciative, too. Maybe he can talk him into fucking him like this, clothes and all.

Jon returns without a single thing covering him safe for a few remaining water droplets. The sight makes Theon’s throat go dry. It also makes him even less inclined to undress himself.

Jon is wasting no time. He marches right up to Theon and pulls him into a kiss. Behind Jon Theon can see his strong back in the mirror, the curve of his arse, the wet hair plastered to his neck.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Theon starts, admiring the way Jon’s arse looks with his hands clutching at it tightly, “but like this the mirror isn’t doing anything for you. I, for one, appreciate it, though.”

“We’re getting there,” Jon says, “but first…” He bites down on Theon’s earlobe, making him gasp. “First you’ll lose that sweater. I mean, it’s nice and the colour suits you. But,” he moves his hands slowly down Theon’s arms, “it’s too warm for what I have in mind.”

Whatever, Theon thinks dizzily, he still has the shirt. Jon slowly shoves the sweater up and Theon willingly lifts his arms, lets Jon take it off and throw it away.

“Come here,” Jon says, pulling Theon against his mouth again.

Theon lets him, wondering what this is about. He decides he doesn’t care when Jon starts kissing him in a way that usually tends to make him forget everything, pressing his warm, firm body against Theon’s.

He doesn’t even notice Jon’s little moves and turns, that is until Jon steps away and Theon finds himself face to face with his reflection.

“What..,” he asks weakly.

“I want to show you something.”

Jon’s hands slowly start unbuttoning Theon’s shirt, until it falls open, exposing his torso. Theon drops his gaze, away from the mirror.

“Look up.”

Theon looks. At his meagre chest, hairless and pale. Nothing like Jon’s pecs, nothing at all. Jon has stepped behind him now and pulls the shirt off his shoulders. Theon looks.

Lean shoulders, and skinny arms, pasty skin, nothing special. Jon’s hands sweep over his stomach, shallow and gaunt. Nothing like Jon’s abs, nothing, nothing, nothing.

Jon crouches down behind Theon, pulling his pants down, revealing thin legs with hardly any hair, like sticks, or twigs. Nothing like Jon’s firm thighs and shaped calves. Nothing.

“What do you see?”

Jon speaks near at his ear now, his hot breath making Theon shiver.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing worth looking at.”

“I’ll tell you what I see then, hm?” Jon says in a conversational tone. “Let’s start with this.”

He draws one finger slowly down Theon’s neck, over his chest, leaving goosebumps in its path.

“The softest skin I ever felt. Perfect colour, smooth and pale and pretty. But I bet you’d look great with a tan as well. I’m looking forward to seeing you in summer. If you are still here.”

He mouths at Theon’s collarbone, then moves lower and takes one of Theon’s nipples between his teeth, biting lightly. Theon gasps.

“Maybe I like these the most,” Jon murmurs, his hand stroking Theon’s other nipple. “I’m obsessed with them. Everytime I see them under your shirt, hard and round, I have to contain myself from just throwing you down and sucking them through the fabric.”

Jon’s fingers are toying with him, teasing him, making him moan and shiver.

“One day,” Jon whispers, “one day I’m going to make you come like that. Just with this. But for now,” his fingers softly rake down Theon’s stomach, “there’s still a lot more I see.”

He digs his fingers into Theon’s hips, not too harsh, but also not lightly.

“I like clutching your hips when I’m taking you from behind. Or when you move above me.”

Theon feels a shudder run through him at Jon’s husky voice. He looks at himself, at what Jon sees. Jon goes down on his knees in front of him, looking up. His pupils are blown, making his eyes look nearly black. He moves his hands all the way down Theon’s thighs, slow and gentle.

“Your legs have the perfect length to wrap around me, always drawing me in further than I think is possible. Your thighs… gods, I could bite them, I will, but not now.”

He takes Theon’s hard cock in hand, licking a slow, wet stripe from base to tip. Jon closes his eyes, slowly taking the head in his mouth, sucking it gently for a moment.

Theon watches him, his gaze torn between Jon and his own reflection, mesmerized by what he’s seeing. His skin is glowing, his chest heaving, his stomach almost concave with the spasms Jon sends through him. Jon pulls off with a content sigh.

“I love your dick. Long and smooth and always so ready for me, fuck, Theon…”

Jon sucks him back, his whole length at once, and Theon cries out, his fingers threading in Jon’s still damp hair. He comes down Jon’s throat, his eyes fixed on himself in the mirror.

Jon comes up to kiss him, and Theon loses himself in it, can taste himself in Jon’s mouth, on Jon’s tongue. Jon breaks away, tracing Theon’s lips with his thumb.

“I love your mouth, when you talk, when you frown, how you sneer at me when I tell you what to do.”

Jon kisses him again, soft and very sweet.

“But most of all I love your smile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favourite chapters of the whole thing, while I was writing and every time I'm reading it over. 
> 
> Despite the sap. Because of the sap?
> 
> I blame AA for the nipple obsession. Damn.
> 
> SORRY for the whole double-post mess.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to see Alannys again, this time with Asha on board.

Theon stares at Jon in shock. His mouth falls open, his arms that had been wrapped around Jon drop to his side. Jon moves back, his face taking on such a horrified expression it’s almost comical.

He takes a step, then another, until he’s out of the bedroom. The door falls shut behind him. Theon looks at the mirror. He touches his mouth. He’s smiling.

After an eternity he’s finally able to move his feet again. They take him to the living room. He finds Jon on the couch, wearing a bathrobe. He has Jaime in his lap, stroking him mechanically.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Jon looks up, his gaze defiant. “I’m falling in love with you. Sue me.”

Theon sits down. He’s still naked but at the moment he couldn’t care less. Not around Jon.

“A thousand fancy lawyers couldn’t win me this case.”

Jon chuckles and leans back.

“Oh bloody hell. All I wanted was to show you how beautiful you are and my damn mouth is running away with me.” He moves a hand through his hair. “Kind of proves your point. I’m really talking too much.”

Jon squints over at Theon and sighs.

“Wanna go to bed? We’re off early tomorrow.”

“Jon.”

“Don’t, okay? Just… can we pretend the last ten minutes didn’t happen?”

“I fear not.” Theon shakes his head doubtfully. “Jaime has heard every word and I mean to call him as a witness if this ever goes to court.”

At this Jon laughs and smacks Theon with a couch pillow.

“Shut up, you freak. Let’s go to bed.”

 

Theon lies on his back in the dark, sleep as far away as ever. Stupid, stupid, stupid, his brain says. When the visit tomorrow is over he should slowly start to think about leaving.

Yes. He’ll try to find some stupid story, get the rest of the six months behind him and then… maybe he can go abroad. Pentos, or Braavos. Get a tan. The thought stings.

Jon said he would want to see him like that. It seems… unfair, somehow, if he wouldn’t get to. They should go together. For a holiday. For a moment Theon can see it, the two of them on the beach -

Wait, what? He has to stop planning things like that. What good is it doing? It's not like they really could do anything couple-y like that, it would only get Jon deeper into this… thing. 

Jon mumbles something in his sleep and Theon sighs. It seems to be too late for that anyway. So why not make the most of it while he’s here? 

Making the most of it involves waking Jon in the morning by rubbing against him until Theon’s hard and squirmy. Jon’s sleepy but appreciative gaze roams over him.

“Morning. Can I help you?”

“Shut up. You promised me something yesterday. I think it was something about biting my - oh fuck, yes, that’s… ah… that’s what I meant.”

Jon keeps his promise, twice.

  
On their way to White Harbour Asha talks nonstop. Maybe her way of showing nerves. She talks about the countries she’s visited, the ships she’s been on, the weird things she’s seen, the people she’s met…

Theon tries to swallow his envy. She’s lived three lives already while he doesn’t even get the one to work properly. Every so often his gaze wanders to Jon who’s quiet mostly, grinning at the cruder ones of Asha’s jokes.

Theon is glad he doesn’t have to say much either. He feels like the last weeks have been a tornado, still whirling around in his head. And there’s no end in sight yet.

This time they’re expected, Theon’s bag is checked and they’re told Alannys’ room number. In the second corridor a woman is coming toward them, marching like a general leading his troops into war.

Theon recognizes her immediately. The matron waltzes past, giving them a short glance. Then she stops. Her eagle eye targets Jon and she harrumphs.

“Temp, huh?” She pokes Jon’s chest. “You. Into my office, now!”

Jon shoots Theon an apologetic glance before obediently tottering behind the matron. Asha shrugs and goes on. Theon looks back over his shoulder, but Jon is already out of sight.

Alannys is sitting in her rocking chair again. For all Theon knows she might be sitting like this all day, every day, only this time there’s some knitting stuff in her hands. She turns her head at their entrance and smiles.

“Hello, dears! I was told I would have company soon and now you’re here.”

Asha seems paralyzed for a moment. Theon elbows her to wake her up and after glowering at him she drags a chair across the room to Alannys’ side. Hesitating, she takes her hand.

“Mother, it’s Asha. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, of course I remember her.” Alannys smiles softly. “My little girl that behaves worse than my boys. It’s a good thing I have Theon. He’s a sweet little boy. Do you know him?”

“I’m here, mother.” Theon curses inwardly. The tears are already threatening to start.

He moves to sit on the rug in front of Alannys. She tilts her head.

“Did you just mention Theon?”

“Yes.” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Is that your wife?”

Alannys looks at Asha who snorts.

“Hardly. Even if Theon’s the only of my male relatives I don’t hate. I mean, he’s obviously a dickhead, but all in all okay.”

“Young Lady,” Alannys tuts, “you really shouldn’t talk about your baby brother like that.”

“Mommy.” Suddenly Asha’s voice sounds smaller, childlike.

Theon unpacks the quilt, laying it in Alannys’ lap.

“Do you remember this, mother? You made it for me when I was little.”

Alannys’ hands stroke the patches, her fingers tracing the embroidered little seahorses and squids.

“I made this for my boy. Has he told you to give it to me?”

The moment has passed, she’s gone. Theon gets up. He kisses his mother’s cheek. Asha does the same, giving her a brief hug. Alannys doesn’t return it, her smile seems unconscious.

Outside Asha kicks the wall.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

“Yeah, I know.” Theon sighs. “Let’s see where Jon is and get outta here.”

They find him outside, waiting on a bench. He takes one look at their faces and gets up, coming to Theon’s side. He opens his arms and Theon leans in automatically. For once he’s not ashamed, of needing the support. Jon is a rock, his arms a haven.

“What did the lady want from you?” Theon asks once they’re in the car. Asha is quiet now on the backseat.

“First she scolded me a good ten minutes for sneaking in.” Jon says, ears reddening. “And then she offered me a job.”

“What?” Theon asks, bewildered. “How come?”

“Well,” Jon’s cheeks flush too now, “she checked on the work we did, like she does with all new temps. Apparently she was quite impressed.”

“Will you? Take it?”

“Can’t.” Jon is staring at the road. “My life isn’t there. My family, my friends, the hospital, the club… at the moment you, all of that is at home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everytime I write about Jon saying, "Shut up", I hear Kit in my head. Can't be helped.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 23 or, the chapter where I lost the eternal battle against Jon Snow wanting to be a bottom. (@half_life :p)

On the weekend Jon goes to the club again, Robb has a fight against someone called Sapphire. That name doesn’t ring a bell with Theon, the guy must have joined only in the last four years.

At first Theon means to stay home. The prospect of seeing Euron - and Ramsay - again isn’t exactly appealing. But then Theon thinks of the way Euron looks at Jon - and Gendry’s going to be there too possibly, and Theon decides it can’t hurt to keep an eye on them.

The atmosphere in the club is already tense, they get their drinks and take places at the ring. Strawberry comes over, giving Jon a quick hug. Theon gets a reluctant nod.

Really, if the only thing he’s ever done to this guy is sleeping with Jon, Theon doesn’t get why Robb is so upset about him. It’s not like he’s going to steal all of Jon’s money - he doesn’t have any - or mistreat Jon or anything - Jon would punch his head off.

He’s just enjoying - _casually_ , he reminds himself - some time with a nice, sexy guy. Who knew from the beginning about his intentions, or lack thereof. Nothing for Robb Stark to get his knickers in a twist over.

There’s a lot of shouting when Robb’s opponent enters the ring. Way over six foot tall, blonde, short hair falling in a smooth white forehead over startlingly pretty blue eyes.

“A woman,” Theon says, awe in his voice. And what a woman!

“Don’t tell me Brienne caught your eye, Theon!”

The mocking voice comes from behind him and he turns around to find Gendry grinning at him. He’s hand in hand with the most unassuming guy Theon has ever seen.

“That’s my fiancé. Podrick Payne, Theon Greyjoy.”

Theon shakes his hand, wondering how anyone would go from The Black Dread to Bambi the baby deer. Because that’s exactly what Podrick looks like.

When Gendry is finally done smooching Jon they all settle in, the fight is about to start. It’s clear after not even two minutes - Robb doesn’t stand a chance.

He bravely holds his own for two distances, but in the third round Sapphire lands a spot-on punch on his jaw that sends him to the pad.

Jon excuses himself to go and see to Robb. Gendry drags Theon to the bar with him and Podrick. Theon looks around as they go, but to his surprise he can neither detect Euron, nor Ramsay. Good.

Giantsbane is mooning at Sapphire, who’s come to talk to a large man with a horribly scarred face. Tormund wakes up at their sight and greets Theon with a loud guffaw.

“HEY! You’re here with Black again? We should find a name for you as well!”

Theon blinks, not sure how to respond to that. Gendry looks like he’s thinking hard.

“What about Dragonslayer, huh? You know, _slaying_ the dragon with your… sword, right? Get it?”

Gendry’s beaming at him, obviously proud of his own wit. Theon actually feels himself blushing at the implication. Fuck, he’s worse than a girl these days.

“Actually, it’s not - I mean, I don’t - forget it.” Why does he even say something?

But while Gendry is looking a little confused, ready to give up on the subject, Pod has caught on and whispers something in his ear. Gendry stares at Theon.

“WHAT? You mean - I thought you said it to needle Straw, but… Fucking hell! Since when does Jon - hey Jon.”

“Gen…” Jon gives him a wary glance. “What’s up?”

“Nothing at all, I swear! Just…” He starts giggling, then chuckling, and soon he’s roaring with laughter, clapping Theon’s back so hard it sends him against the bar.

“Please please _please_ , let’s go,” Theon begs, tugging at Jon’s jumper.

“Probably better.” Jon seems uncomfortable. “The next fight is going to be bloody.”

Theon doesn’t ask, but when he turns back at the door he can see Ramsay lounging about in the ring, waving idly in his direction while waiting for his opponent. He winks and blows Theon a kiss, making him feel nauseous.

 

On their way home, with Jon’s car this time, Theon keeps mulling everything over in his head. Gendry’s assumption, his shock, then obvious fun when he got it… Theon turns to Jon abruptly.

“Why am I the one getting fucked?”

“Huh?” Jon gives him a startled glance. “I fear I don’t-”

“I mean,” Theon interrupts impatiently, “between the two of us. When and how did that get decided?”

With a jerk Jon stops the car. They’re in front of his flat but he makes no move to get out. He looks alarmed.

“I don’t know? I guess I just figured you’re… c’mon Theon, you didn’t say - you just struck me as the bottomiest of bottoms, okay?” He groans, hitting his forehead against the steering wheel. “Please don’t tell me I had it wrong all the time!”

“You’re not wrong,” Theon says at length. “How we do it - it’s perfect, I’ve always fantasized of having The Black Dread in me, and you… It’s just…”

At Jon’s curious look he relays the details of his chat with Gendry to him. Jon suddenly looks decidedly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I guess that would strike him as odd. When we were together it was mostly _me_ getting… you know.”

“Are you saying you like to be fucked?” Theon keeps his voice calm.

Without looking at Theon Jon hesitantly nods. He’s bright red.

“Out,” Theon snarls, “get out of the car.”

“Theon, It’s not like that, I like both, I love what we do, I love being in you, you have to believe me!”

Jon gets out and Theon all but attacks him, kissing him hard.

They stumble upstairs, lips, teeth and tongues locked, frantically tearing at each others clothes. Jon falls on the bed, his trousers already halfway down his thighs.

Theon rigs Jon’s sweater up, pulls it over his head. The dragon is baring its fangs, daring him to touch, to bite, to take. He can’t wait, has no patience.

It’s a good thing they’re never putting the stuff away anymore, Theon couldn’t bear to search for it right now. As it is it’s only seconds until he has his fingers in Jon, stretching him as fast and rough as he dares.

The sounds Jon makes… Theon feels like losing his mind, he needs to feel him now, needs to give back what he’s taken so often.

Tight, tighter than he thought after what he’s heard, and so fucking warm, it’s overwhelming, too much to take, not enough to give, he just wants more, to stay there forever, buried in him like this.

Jon’s cries tear through him, make him want to rip his skin off, make his blood boil hot through his veins. It’s too much, he can’t last, can’t focus, he lets go and spills with a curse, collapsing over Jon’s shivering body.

When his senses return Theon winds a hand beneath them. It comes away sticky and wet, and he smiles. He doesn’t dare to move, just holds on tight to Jon in his arms. Jon is trembling all over.

If he’d move he’d inevitably slip out of him, but for now he wants nothing more than to stay where he is, warm and safe and close. It’s Jon who finally breaks them apart.

He turns to face Theon, to kiss him a hundred times, probably more. He seems to be choking, seems to suffocate on the words stuck in his throat. A wave of tenderness washes over Theon and he smiles, rolling his eyes mockingly.

“Go on, say it.”

Jon shakes his head, only a tiny movement, but Theon catches it. They’re so close now, there’s nothing, not one tiny spark in Jon’s eyes, no flicker across his face, that he’d miss.

“Come, say it. I’m a big boy, okay? I can take it.”

“I love you. Gods help me, I love you.”

The relief washing over Jon’s face is nearly palpable, it’s sweet, and Theon kisses him for a long time.

 

Later when they’re reasonably clean and eating a very late dinner - or a very early breakfast - Theon thinks about what just happened.

While he'd still rather Jon fucks him, this now was so fucking good… He wants to do it again, wants to feel again what he felt when he made Jon come without a touch to his cock.

Pride, awe, and that fondness he has never felt for anyone he’s fucked before.

“Jon?”

“Hm?” Jon looks up from his grilled cheese sandwich. He still seems dazed.

“I wish to be called Dragonslayer from now on.”

  
On Monday Jon leaves for work in the early afternoon. It’s not even ten minutes later that the bell rings and Theon presses the button. Upon the timid knock he opens the door with a smile.

“Did you forget something or just want - oh shit.”

“Why hello, darling.” Ramsay smiles. “Thanks for letting me in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it went to shit right after. Next chapter the horrible, horrible thing will happen.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. Jon POV for this ch, Theon's occupied elsewhere.
> 
> Now I'm WARNING all readers again: terrible things are going to happen in this chapter, to the cats. 
> 
> WWRD

The afternoon has been strenuous, the night relatively calm. There’s been a shooting between rivaling gangs and a traffic accident, but apart from that Jon has had entirely too much time to think.

About Theon, mostly, what has happened the night before. He can still feel him, a dull but sweet throbbing, like a memento. Jon smiles to himself.

He knows it’s really stupid, thinking about him like that. But that’s not something he can help right now. At least he knows the deal and it won’t come as a shock the day Theon will leave.

Jon knows he shouldn’t have let it happen. But there’s something so different about Theon, something about the way he’s… It’s not easy to pinpoint.

The Theon he’d read about in countless articles, he’s nothing like the Theon Jon has come to know. He’d never have guessed how insecure he is, how unsure of himself.

What has happened to him… it would’ve been enough to break anyone. Jon still thinks Theon is way stronger than he gives himself credit for. After all he’s survived.

Jon hastens to get home. He would never confess it but he loves coming home these days, to someone already there. Someone to talk to or just hang around with.

The time Gendry has lived with him had been awesome, they had had so much fun, great sex and he had really liked him, loved him even. But when it was over Jon hadn’t been heartbroken or anything.

Jon unlocks the door, greeted by silence, which is odd. Normally Theon comes out to greet him, already chatting away as if he needs to get out all the words he hasn’t been able to say over the day.

Or a cat would come scuttling across the floor, meowing at him. At least the TV should be running, Jon thinks. Has Theon gone out?

For a moment he closes his eyes. Has it happened, has he left him? Surely not without a goodbye at least. 

He decides to look in the bedroom, maybe they’re all still asleep, huddled together like they often do. He opens the door. The scream dies on his lips.

Above the bed hangs something, nailed to the wall, dripping red liquid onto a furry thing on the pillow. His throat dry, Jon steps closer. White fur.

He takes the thing above the bed down, an eerie calm flooding his body. He wraps Jaime back in his fur, cradling his little body for a moment. When he’s tugged him into one of his tees he carries him out.

He finds Tyrion in the kitty castle. He’s lying in the hammock, his favourite place. His head sits on top of the tower. Jon wraps him up too, before he goes looking for Cersei.

She’s curled up under the couch, and Jon carefully pulls her out. She has blood on her mouth, looking absolutely tiny. A flutter has Jon pause. She’s breathing.

There’s no trace of Theon, his phone is lying on the couch table. It’s not hard to guess what happened. Jon thinks of Jaime. A signature, like a greeting.

Skinner.

When the animal emergency services have collected Cersei, Jon sits on the couch. He’s strangely numb, feeling nothing at all. It only kills him that he has to wait.

When the sun finally starts to go down he grabs his car keys and leaves for the club. He hopes he’s there by now. There’s not many people around yet, but the one he’s been hoping to see is waiting for him.

“Reaver,” Jon greets calmly.

Euron’s smile is blinding.

“Black, my boy… I knew you’d come to see me. And to make this as short as possible - yes, I do know where our dear friend Skinner has taken my poor, weak nephew.”

“What do you want?” Jon asks, emotionless.

When Euron has told him what he wants to hear he rushes out without hesitating a second. Euron’s final words are still ringing in his head.

“I wouldn’t bother, my boy. There won’t be much left of him by now. Nothing worth fighting for. Now even less than before.”

 

Outside Robb catches up with him. Jon hadn’t even seen him in the club, had only had eyes for Euron. Now Robb reaches for Jon’s shoulder before he can get in the car.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Why?” Jon studies his pained face with a frown. “What’s he to you? You don’t like him.”

“It’s my fault,” Robb whispers, his face whiter than a sheet. “A few days ago. In the club. I was drunk, I swear I didn’t mean it!”

“Didn’t mean what.” Jon has a dreadful feeling unfurling in his stomach. “Spit it out.”

“I talked to a few of the guys. About Greyjoy, and how I don’t trust him. I said he’s just a… just a disgusting leech sticking to you. Jon, I just… he can ruin us. He’s not one of us.” He swallows. “I was afraid for my career. My life.”

Jon listens to Robb babbling. Of course. That'd been all the excuse Ramsay had needed. He closes his eyes for a moment.

“Skinner heard you. What exactly did you say?”

“That I’d love to be rid of him in a good way. Before he can betray us. You. Our whole family.”

Jon makes a conscious effort to steady his breathing. He didn't mean it like that. Robb didn't know - he didn't mean it like that.

“You should go home, Robb.”

“Let me come with you, Jon! I want to help!”

Jon feels a sudden rush of anger surging through him. He clenches his fists. Not yet. Too soon.

“You’ve done enough.”

He leaves Robb standing in front of the club. Ten minutes later he stops at a large apartment building and gets out his phone. He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Let’s go, killer. Don’t worry, okay? We’ll get him back.” Gendry strokes Jon’s thigh reassuringly. “You love him, eh? What about your fantasy guy?”

“A fantasy,” Jon mumbles. Theon is real. And waiting for him.

They quickly make it to the place Euron has told Jon about. A quaint little house, nestled between two large buildings. It looks nice, comfortable and harmless, checkered curtains, a garden gnome on the windowsill. Ramsay’s very own little house of horrors.

“Ready for the party, killer?”

Jon slowly smiles. Now is the time to let go. He can feel the calmness draining from him, being replaced by a buzzing restlessness. He aches for it. He nods.

“Let’s make sure I finally deserve that nickname of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry sorry


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Theon POV with a bit of Jon POV in the middle. And to be honest I enjoyed writing that little part. Apparently I'm very bloodthirsty where it concerns Ramsay^^'

“Scream! Cry, shout, beg, whimper - _anything_ , dammit!!”

Theon spits some blood on the floor and clenches his teeth. He’ll be damned if he even so much as sighs. He’d been paralysed with fear the moment he’d seen Ramsay standing in the door, but now he’s come back to himself, determined not to give in.

Ramsay had reached out for Theon, then there had been a golden flash and a horrible growl and Ramsay had stumbled, had tried to get Cersei off of him and then kicked her against the wall.

At the thump her body made when it hit Theon had come to live. He’d jumped him, had tried to get his hands in his face, clawing and hitting.

For a moment Ramsay had been stunned, then he had punched Theon’s jaw so hard he’d blacked out. He’d come to in a horribly familiar room with Ramsay pacing up and down in front of him.

At the sight of Theon being awake he’d been delighted.

“Come on, sugar. Come here. Oh, how I _missed_ you… Show me you remember how to behave.”

Theon had spit in his face. For a moment Ramsay had been frozen in shock, then he’d backhanded Theon so hard he’d fallen over.

Since then Ramsay has used pretty much all of his usual repertoire - belittling him, hurting him in more ways than he cares to count - so far Theon had been like iron, he thinks proudly, refusing to break down and beg for mercy at Ramsay’s feet.

Theon can see it’s driving him nuts.

“If you think your _lover_ is going to come for you, you’re tragically mistaken.”

Theon can’t help the jolt going through him at that. He fucking _knows_ Jon will come for him. Ramsay laughs, a nasty sound.

“His own cousin sent me to get you out of the way, do you really think your lovely Jon would let him do that if he weren’t on board with this?”

Theon bites his tongue. He knows Ramsay and his fucking lies. Lies, lies, lies, lies and blood and torture and pain.

Ramsay growls in frustration, lunges and strikes his stomach, hard. Theon curls up, coughing weakly. With a strangled noise Ramsay falls on top of him, ripping at his clothes, what’s left of them.

Theon starts kicking, lashing out, not that, _not that_!! Suddenly there’s a loud crash, and Ramsay is gone.

  
Jon doesn’t even see the monster, he only sees them. Jaime’s golden paw prodding at him to wake him up, Tyrion’s tongue poking out when he’s relaxed, Cersei’s reluctant purr when she forgets she doesn’t like him.

Theon. He hopes they’re not too late, there’s still someone to take home. When he came in, Jon hadn’t dared to look at his curled up body, had only focused on the monster.

He doesn’t see the face he’s beating into a bloody pulp, doesn’t hear the nauseating crunching noises, the squelching sound when he smashes his fist into that thing that doesn’t resemble a face anymore. Killer. _Killer_. The word is stuck in his head.

“Jon.”

He falters mid-strike. The thing beneath him has long stopped moving. A hand on his shoulder. Jon leans back. He sounds okay. A face pressing into his hair. He feels okay. Jon slowly gets up, feeling a hundred years old. He turns around.

Theon’s face is even more of a mess than the day he found him, but for some reason he’s smiling. He touches Jon’s hand, the raw knuckles burning where he's chafed the skin off.

“Let’s go home.”

Gendry says he’ll deal with the stuff they’re leaving behind. He winks and calls Theon mushface again. Jon feels numb. He hasn’t quite come to terms with it. Is he really okay? Sitting beside him in a cab, one arm wrapped around his shoulders?

At home Theon settles Jon down on the couch. Jon means to get his things, tend to Theon’s face, to the spot on his arm where blood has seeped through the shirt.

Theon shakes his head.

“Later. Where are the cats?”

Jon then lays his head in Theon’s lap and starts crying.

  
Jon’s phone rings two times. Theon takes both calls. The first is Gendry. He tells him that an ambulance has collected Ramsay. So far he’s alive. Barely.

The paramedics in this city are aware of the illegal bare-knuckle-fights, so when they get an anonymous call about someone who got his head bashed in they don’t ask questions.

Theon is glad he’s alive. Not because of Ramsay, because of Jon. He knows what he is and what he can do, what he will do if the circumstances arise. But that doesn’t mean he wants to live with death on his hands.

The second call is the vet Cersei was taken to. It looks good, she’s gonna make it. They can pick her up in two weeks. Theon wants to sob in relief.

When Jon wakes up Theon tells him the good news. He lets Jon patch up his face. It looks worse than it is, he has lots of cuts and bruises, his cheek is swollen and his jaw contused. He’s had worse.

The only thing he’s worried about is his arm, the long, carved S there. It looks ugly and will for a long time, possibly forever. Another mark. At least he won’t let anyone do a skin graft this time. It looked worse than better afterwards.

Jon is quiet. After he’d told him of the cats he hadn’t said anything else. His hands have never left Theon since, though. Only when Jon was sleeping he sneaked out, to answer the phone.

They sleep on the couch the rest of the day, until Jon wakes Theon with an urgency that’s more telling than if he’d say a thousand words. There’s only one thing he says.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers over and over again, “I’m sorry.”

Theon knows him well enough to know what he’s apologizing for. Not having been there when Ramsay came. Not getting him sooner. Not being able to save the cats. 

Theon holds his face, forcing Jon to look in his eyes. It's easy to tell him this, because it's nothing but the truth.

“You know why I wasn’t afraid? You know why I didn’t just break down and crawl back to him? Because I knew. I knew you’d come for me.”

Jon nearly smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very doom and gloom, I know. Tomorrow's chapter is going to be a little better, I promise!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tiny hint of lightness here, but there's still a way to go before the black clouds have cleared.

Jon seems to get on. He goes to work, he cooks, he tends to Theon’s wounds. Back to square one. But he’s not happy. Restless. Many times Theon finds him staring at the kitty castle in silence.

The first nights they’ve slept on the couch until the new bed had arrived. New frame, new mattress, new pillows, new covers. Theon has even put a couple layers of paint on the wall. He’d asked Jon if they should throw out the kitty castle too, but Jon had shaken his head.

So Theon had only removed the hammock, had scrubbed the top of the tower and sewn a patch of fabric over it.

They’ve buried the two boys, in a quiet little forest where Jon had already brought the dog he had as a child. It’ll be better, Theon thinks, once they can bring Cersei home.

Asha calls every day. She’s overtaken the correspondence with Howland Reed. It looks like - if Theon loses the inheritance - it’s going to be a lot harder than they thought, to get custody for their mother.

After the two weeks have passed they go to collect Cersei. Theon’s face looks pretty normal again, if a little yellowish from the fading bruises. Jon still hasn’t touched him since the morning after they came home.

Cersei looks thin, and smaller. Back at home they let her out of the carrier and she starts searching immediately. It’s heartbreaking, watching her look in every corner for her brothers.

She finally gives up, clinging to Theon most of the time. Jon can barely look at her. Like he barely looks at Theon.

Theon decides to do something that normally would have him running for the hills. Still. He wants it back, like things have been before. Only three more months until the deadline. They don’t have forever.

When Jon makes to get up after dinner, Theon catches his sleeve.

“Can we talk?”

Jon sits back down, looking at him wearily. Theon coughs, nervous all of a sudden.

“What is it, Jon? Is it just the cats? I miss them too, you know?”

“I know.” Jon sighs. “They loved you.”

Again Theon’s mouth beats his brain.

“Do you still love me?”

Jon looks pained.

“How can you ask that?”

“You don’t touch me.” Theon shrugs. “You don’t talk to me. Are you angry with me? If it wasn’t for me…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m just… sorry, okay? I have a lot on my mind.”

“It’s over, Jon. They say he probably never wakes up again. And if he does, he won’t be able to do much besides drooling.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? That I’m able to just go and beat someone into a vegetable? I would have killed him. I thought I’ve killed him. I _wanted_ to kill him.”

“You’re right.” Theon sighs. “You have the ability to kill. But do you like it? No, didn’t think so.” Theon tries to grin. “If you were the hero of some fantasy novel you’d probably be slaying people left and right and then go around moping.”

“Wouldn’t that make me the villain?”

But there’s still the hint of a smile in Jon’s words now.

“Nah,” Theon shrugs. “You’d be the most righteous bastard ever. Always knowing what’s the right thing to do. Every step the right step. Someone to follow. To look up to.” He grins for real now. “And I’d be your fair maiden in distress and you’d grudgingly have to save my ass all the time.”

Jon laughs, a short chuckle, but there’s a hint of the old spark in his eyes.

“A fair maiden? Do you know how they treat fair maidens in fantasy novels?”

“No?” Theon squints in suspicion as Jon gets up. “What are you doing?”

Before he can stop him, Jon has thrown Theon over his shoulder and carries him to bed.

“Reaping my reward, my lady.”

  
When their craving for touch has been thoroughly satisfied, Theon moves to his favourite pastime - tracing the lines of the dragon. Jon is quiet under his hands, after all the sex there’s still a lot of tension left in him.

“It’s not over,” he says at length. “It’ll never be over. I am who I am. There’s always gonna be someone who’s heard about me, who wants to challenge me. Some people do a lot to reach their goal.”

Theon breathes into Jon’s neck, makes him shudder, inhales deeply to fill his lungs with Jon’s scent. How he’s missed that…

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m always going to be the guy who’s been The Black Dread. I’m always going to be a potential killer. One day someone will challenge me again and when I’m not accepting… they’ll hurt what I love to bait me. My family. My cat. You.”

Jon sighs and turns around, facing Theon.

“It’s probably for the better that you’re leaving eventually. I mean, how many times do you want to have your face bashed in?”

“I fervently hope that was the last time. Jon, I’m not leaving yet.”

“But you will. How long until the deadline? You’ll be busy after that. Getting your life back on track. Looking after your mom. You can’t live with the constant threat of being a tool to get to me.”

Theon thinks about that. He hadn't meant for things to get this intense. It's going to be fucking hard, for the both of them, when it is time. But now he's here.

“What’s up, hm? This isn’t coming from nowhere I guess. And it’s not about Ramsay. What is it?”

Jon sighs heavily and rolls onto his back.

“Euron... I just knew he was in on this somehow. He told me where to find you. He wanted something in return.”

“A fight.” Theon sits up in alarm. “You said yes.”

“Of course I said yes.” Jon shoots him a disdainful look. “I’d’ve promised him my firstborn to get to you.”

“Haha. What exactly did you promise?”

“A fight.”

“And?” Theon knows. Of course he does.

“And.” Jon looks aside. “To the victor go the spoils of war.”

“When?”

“Friday Night.” Jon raises a hand, strokes Theon’s hair from his forehead. “You’d take care of her, yes? Cersei. If the - if this goes wrong.”

“Stop talking shit, okay?” Theon frowns. “You’ll win this.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. I haven’t been training for years. And The Reaver is lethal.” Jon sighs. “Just promise it, okay?”

“Yes, yes, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Jon has closed his eyes but now he opens them to squint at Theon. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll try not to get killed. Or reaved.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The mood is heavy again, heavier than Theon would like it. He’s worried, worried about Jon. Not only because of Euron. More because he seems to think there’s no way out of the cycle of darkness and fighting.

It’s not even being a fighter. A lot of them are having perfectly normal lives. It’s about being the best, the challenge, the peak. And it’s about what can go wrong.

Jon is calm now, resigned. Theon would do anything to break it, this quiet submission into thinking of himself as a killer. As a bad person. As a threat to the people around him. But that’s something Jon has to figure out himself.

There’s no magic Theon can do to make it go away. He can only stay for a little while longer. Can try to take Jon’s mind off of it. With a quick move he rolls on top of him.

“What now?” Jon scowl deepens when he looks up at Theon.

“I wondered,” Theon asks while idly brushing his fingers over Jon’s stomach and past his cock, “if the no reaving includes me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Take your seats for the comeback of the year! The Reaver vs. The Black Dread!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE BIG FIGHT!!!  
> I hope everyone's in their seat and has popcorn and beer ready.
> 
> Ladies and Gentlemen, seconds out!!!

It seems everyone has come to see the big comeback of The Black Dread, fighting The Reaver. Theon can see Ned Stark - the fucking legendary Ice - talking to a man he recognizes as another retired fighter, The Boar.

He’s shocked to see how fat the man has become. He’s looking happy all the same, drinking one beer after the other, roaring with laughter every other moment. It’s hard to believe that this man was the one who beat The Dragon.

Jon’s father. They have never talked about him, except that one time when Jon had been humming a nice tune while cooking. Theon had asked him what song that was and Jon had shrugged and told him it’s the only thing he remembers about his father, how he’d sing this song to him when he was little.

Theon knows some stuff from Euron. The Dragon was an amazing fighter but he hated it. Contrary to Jon, no matter what he tells everyone and himself. One day The Dragon killed a man in the ring. An accident, but it drove him insane. Not long after that he was defeated by The Boar, and then he just upped and left, leaving his sick wife and his two-year-old son behind.

Rumour has it he went to Braavos and joined some weird cult to atone for his sins. Theon doesn’t think there’s much truth to this. It’s more likely he jumped off a bridge somewhere. One of his best friends even went searching for him, another fighter, The Griffin. He disappeared as well.

Gendry is on his own tonight. Before long he’s dragged Theon to the bar and tries to fill him up with Giantsbane’s deadly bearkiller drinks. He’s even more chatty than usual. Theon knows how he’s feeling.

To his surprise Robb Stark sidles up to him. Gendry - not very subtle - moves in front of Theon and crosses his arms over his chest.

“What’s up, Straw?”

“Relax, Gen.” Robb raises his hands. “I only want to talk to him, okay?”

Gendry looks at Theon, waiting for his approval before moving aside. Theon can’t repress a grin, despite the sick feeling in his stomach. Seems like his bodyguard is back on duty.

For a while Robb doesn’t say anything, he just kicks his feet and sighs a lot. Finally he plucks up his courage and looks at Theon, cheeks red in shame.

“Sorry. For getting you into that… situation.”

Theon waves his hand in a gracious gesture.

“We’re cool, man. You’re not responsible for that psycho.”

“But if it hadn’t been for what I said-”

“He’d have found another excuse sooner or later.” Theon gives him a lopsided grin. “I’m so wonderful some people can never stop obsessing over me.”

“Ha.” Robb chuckles but his face immediately gets serious again. “I was a dick to you though. About the thing with Jon.”

“Nah, I get it, mate.” Theon shrugs. “If someone like me would come along and start shagging my sister…” He stops, then laughs. “Okay, I’d probably wish them good luck and advise them to apply for health insurance.”

They share a smile and Theon thinks, it’d be nice if they could become friends. Gendry touches Theon’s arm.

“Let’s get to Jon, okay? They’ll start soon. The Reaver has just arrived.” He raises an eyebrow at Robb. “Who’re you rooting for, Straw? I know you’re a fan of him.”

Theon represses a smile. It seems like Gendry’s having the most trouble getting over this whole thing. Theon meant exactly what he just told him - he didn’t think it was Robb’s fault for a second after Jon had explained everything. Jon doesn’t, either. Not really. When Robb had called a few days ago he’d been grumpy as hell, but that won’t last.

“Jon is like a brother to me!” Robb seems - rightfully, in Theon’s eyes - offended by Gendry’s open reproach. “I would never want him to get hurt.”

Only that today he could get way more than just hurt, Theon thinks, his stomach churning again. Jon is waiting for them on the side of the ring. He’s got his hair tied back so tight it looks painful. Theon had asked him if he wanted to cut it again, but Jon had only shrugged.

“Can’t. One of his conditions was that I don’t cut my hair.”

“What conditions?” Theon had asked with a feeling of dread.

“Not to cut my hair. To give him a good fight. Not to scream like a girl when he takes what is his later.”

Theon swallows dryly. Jon has to win. He’s much too honourable to break a promise he’s made to someone, even to someone like Euron. And Theon fucking knows too well how something like this can destroy you, change you. You’ll never be the same as before.

Gendry hugs Jon for a long time, whispering in his ear. For once Theon doesn’t mind the small kiss they share, it seems like a goodbye and it makes his chest tighten. They can’t do that, they can’t go acting like it’s a lost cause. They need to have faith.

“Good luck, killer,” Gendry says when he moves away to leave them alone for a moment.

As alone as it gets in a room with a hundred people squashed together. Theon plasters the widest grin he’s capable of on his face. Faith. He leans in.

“You look so fucking good like this. When this is over I’m going to fuck you through the whole flat, and then we drive over to mine, kick Asha out and start again there. How does that sound?”

“Awesome,” Jon says, offensively underwhelmed at the prospect, “but I’ll have you know that _I’m_ going to be fucking _you_ through your apartment. All three hundred rooms, right?”

He climbs into the ring, then turns back to Theon. With a quick move he’s drawn him against his bare chest, only the cords between them, kissing him hard and quick.

“You know what, right? I do. I really do.”

“I know you do. Now go and kick my uncle’s ass.”

Theon doesn’t have to look to know his uncle has joined Jon in the ring. The crowd isn’t cheering this time, instead it’s deadly quiet. Only the music is still blaring from the speakers. Theon goes over to Gendry in the front row where he’s saved a seat for him.

Euron and Jon shake hands, and Euron drags Jon near to say something in his ear. Jon only nods once, cool as ever, and the fight starts. They circle each other, neither wanting to be the first to attack, this much is clear.

Finally Euron strikes, it almost seems playful, and Jon evades his fist with ease. Gendry clutches at Theon’s hand so hard and sudden it makes him jump and yelp. Theon gazes over. Gendry looks like he’s going to be sick.

“I’m so fucking glad he wasn’t fighting while we were together. I’m.. he isn’t even mine anymore and I’m fucking _dying_ here. How can you bear this? How can you bear to watch?”

“I couldn’t bear not to watch,” Theon says, “so what’s my choice? And he’s not… he’s not mine.”

“He is,” Gendry grumbles. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. Maybe you aren’t his, but he’s yours, that much I’m certain about.”

Jon strucks Euron’s ribs and for a moment Euron falters. He straightens again, but he’s panting, his face contorted.

“Rib broken,” Gendry mutters.

With a groan that’s heard over the music Euron starts coming at Jon in a flurry of attacks, hitting his face twice. Theon winces as Jon’s head flicks back, blood gushing from his nose. Euron laughs, strikes again. Another hit and Jon stumbles, spits some blood.

Gendry has closed his eyes and is mumbling something, maybe a prayer, maybe a curse. Theon keeps his eyes wide open, doesn’t even want to blink. Another strike to Euron’s chest has him crumble, his knees threaten to give in before he pulls himself together.

With a roar he slams his fist in Jon’s stomach. Jon falters, his knees giving in. He’s down. For a moment it seems it’s over, then Euron grabs his neck and pulls him back to his feet. With one swift move he drags him close and licks the blood from his mouth. Theon feels like he’s going to be sick himself any moment.

Jon stands. He seems to sway on his feet. Euron circles him now, like a vulture, just waiting for his prey to give up. Theon looks around quickly. Ned Stark’s face is shadowed, Robb beside him looks faintly green. There’s hushed whisper among the crowd.

Has The Black Dread been off the stage for too long? Has he lost his bite? Theon starts to fear it too. Fear, and more fear, flooding through him until he’s drowning in it. Gendry is panting next to him, his breath coming in short gasps and tiny groans. He definitely looks sick now.

Jon raises his head. Over Euron’s shoulder his gaze finds Theon’s and there’s something glittering in his eyes - and suddenly Theon knows. For a moment he has the weird impulse to warn his uncle, to tell him to duck. He doesn’t move a muscle. He watches as Jon bows forward ever so slightly and with one violent blow sends Euron to the pad.

The referee waits, one second, two… Finally he declares Jon the winner. For a moment Theon thinks he’s gone deaf when the whole room bursts into cheers and applause at once. They are starting to chant, “Black, Black, Black.”

In the ring Jon straightens and lifts his head, lets his gaze sweep over the crowd, a victorious gladiator. He nods at his uncle, gives Robb a short wink. Then he looks at Theon, eyebrows raised, and jerks his head to the side questioningly. Theon looks over. Gendry’s hanging in his seat, obviously out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love other GoT character cameos^^ There'll be some more soon :D
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the fight and look forward to the aftermath.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's technically not tomorrow yet (half an hour left here till midnight) but tomorrow I'm going away and may have no time to post (shocking!!)

Jon is crouching over Euron’s unconscious form when Theon finally gets to him through the flood of people. He looks up at Theon with a sigh.

“Jaw broken. And I think he bit his tongue quite bad. But he’ll be fine.”

“Do you really think I care?” Theon drags Jon up, noticing how he flinches at his touch. “I’m more interested in what’s wrong with _you_ at the moment.”

“I’m fine. I feel good. I’d forgotten. I’d bloody forgotten how good it feels.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“Honestly, you don’t look fine,” Theon says and pokes Jon’s jaw. Jon hisses.

“Yeah, some cuts and bruises and all the usual stuff. And I fear I lost a couple of back teeth. Your uncle’s fist is like iron.”

“I know a good dentist,” Theon says dryly.

“I bet you do. Where’s Gen at? Did he really black out?” Jon scans the crowd around them and Theon loses it.

“CAN YOU PLEASE GO AND SNOG YOUR EX-BOYFRIEND LATER???”

He takes a deep breath, making a conscious effort to unclench his fists.

“You look like shit and I think your lip needs stitches and _please_ don’t tell me you’re going to do it yourself!”

“Ah,” Jon cocks his head. “Jealous, baby?”

“Oh shut it.” Theon throws his hands up. “You’re bloody impossible, you know that? You made everyone think you’re over and done with and then you go and knock him out with one punch. That was not what your modus operandi used to be, the waiting and absorbing blows.”

“I know,” Jon huffs, “that’s why I did it. The Reaver was anticipating a knock-out punch straight away. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

Theon feels faint with relief - and anger.

“Why all the melodrama then, huh?”

“Sorry, man,” Jon grins, then yelps. “Ouch. I’ve forgotten that, too. Look, you needed to be convincing, okay? If you had been absolutely sure I was going to win this, The Reaver would have taken one look at you and known. Ow, fuck!”

“Serves you right,” Theon mumbles crossly. “I thought I’d lose you.”

The smile vanishes from Jon’s face like it’s been wiped off.

“Stop that, okay? Stop pretending you’re not gonna leave when we both know - hey, pussy!” He turns to hug Gendry who seems to have recovered somewhat. “No way I wasn’t going to win this!”

“I gather The Black Dread is back, then?”

The voice behind them is somber, and very familiar to anyone who owns a TV. Ned Stark has joined them. He watches as two guys take Euron away.

“Good fight, boy. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, uncle.” Jon straightens his shoulders. “Guess I _am_ back. This,” he drags Theon forward, “is Theon.”

“Ah, the infamous Greyjoy heir.” Ned Stark’s face is serious, but his eyes are kind. “I am very sorry about your father.”

Despite the polite and friendly tone Theon can only nod, eyes wide in awe. Ice is talking to him. Eddard fucking Stark. Jon elbows him and rolls his eyes.

“Fangirling again? Come on, tear yourself away. You can ask my uncle to sign your chest later, right now I really need a drink.”

  
They only make it home at dawn. Everyone wanted to talk to Jon, congratulate him, buy him a drink. Jon is still buzzing with adrenaline. Somewhere in between he let some girl stitch his lip.

He still looks awful. This is The Black Dread from Theon’s dreams, and Theon has never wanted him more, despite the anger still coiling in his gut. He lets Jon throw him on the bed, but stops him from taking off his clothes. There’s something he needs to know first.

“Wait. Did you mean anything you said? Or was it all just bullshit to have me fretting?”

Jon sighs, his fingers lingering on Theon’s belt.

“I meant most of it. That I can never run away from what I am. That you’re a target as long as we’re together. It seems… better I accept it. Go back to the stage. Give people the chance to challenge me without feeling the need to blackmail me into it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, thank you, I’m not stupid.” Theon rolls his eyes. “You’re saying you rather get clobbered every couple of weeks than have people use me to bait you. Come on, Jon.” He sighs, finally allowing Jon to get him out of his pants. “You want it.”

“I want it. No use in denying it. But I would’ve spent my whole life running away from it if it hadn’t been for you. Besides…” he winks as he settles in between Theon’s legs. “I’m the one who clobbers. Now shut up and let me fuck you so hard you’ll walk funny for days.”

With a quick move Theon shoves Jon flat on his back, straddling his hips.

“Hold that thought for round two, yeah? There’s still that fantasy I had.”

“Tell me.” Jon’s eyes are sparkling, his stitched lip is swollen and there’s still traces of blood on his jaw. Right now, like this, he’s everything Theon has ever dreamed of. “What shall I do?”

Theon looks down at him, suddenly at a loss. It’s strange, there’s two different impulses fighting in him now. To ride The Black Dread’s cock so hard he’s going to scream Theon’s name - and to cradle Jon’s face in his hands, to fuck him nice and slow, make him whisper his name, and the other thing.

He brings his hands to Jon's hair, still tied up although some strands have escaped the tight bun during the fight and the drinking afterwards. Jon sighs in relief as the rest of his curls flood down.

Theon buries his fingers in them, smoothes them out against the pillow. He starts circling his fingertips, softly pressing down on Jon's scalp. It makes Jon moan out loud.

"That's your fantasy?" Jon smiles up at Theon teasingly. "I have to say I like that one."

Theon sighs. There never really was a decision to make here. 

“Just… just lie back and let me.”

  
The black cloud seems to have lifted. Jon is back to his old, relaxed self, though a lot less grumpier than he used to be. Only sometimes, when he comes home, he automatically looks around for them. Until he remembers.

There’s bad news from Mr. Reed. At the moment neither Theon nor Asha can be named their mother’s custodian. They lack a regular income.

Then Jon gets a call. He looks angry when he hangs up.

“That was Mrs. Tyrell. The matron from White Harbour,” he explains at Theon’s questioning look. “Your mother was signed out and got picked up by someone yesterday.”

“Someone,” Theon parrots blankly.

“Someone matching Victarion’s description.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One uncle down, two to go. Or one and a half, Aeron is more of a minion here. 
> 
> Anyone want Ned Stark to sign their chest? Please queue over there. XD


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I wouldn't dare to hurt a hair on Alannys' head. And neither would Vic, because I say so.

Asha has learned to curse in seven different languages, which sounds quite impressive when used all at once.

“I’ll kill that son of a bitch!! I’ll grab his shriveled balls and drag him through the streets!!”

Jon watches her raving with raised eyebrows.

“Have you ever thought of joining the fight club? You have the required fire.”

“What?” Asha pauses in her fit to grin at him. “Oh, actually, I have. But I chose the free life.”

“Why have you never asked me if I want to join the club?” Theon asks, his hurt only partly faked. “Am I too weak?”

“No, I’m too fond of your face,” Jon grumbles. Then he sighs. “Look, guys. There’s nothing you can do at the moment. Mr. Reed is looking into it.”

“So?” Asha snorts. “And how the fuck should a _lawyer_ be able to help us?”

“Not any lawyer,” Jon says, nonchalant. “Howland Reed.”

Theon sighs inwardly. Jon’s right, they can’t do anything right now. Asha’s still grumpily muttering curses under her breath but seems to have come to the same conclusion.

At least there’s something to take Theon’s mind off of this. Gendry has called him and told him it’s Jon’s birthday in four days, which means he has to find a gift.

Normally if one of his _girlfriends_ had a birthday while he was with them, the gift had been nice underwear and a coupon for sexy times. But somehow he can’t really see Jon wearing a garter belt. Not voluntarily at least.

And Ramsay’s birthday in Theon’s annus horribilis had involved a knife and a birthday present from Ramsay to himself. Afterwards they had cake, that is, Ramsay had cake. Theon didn’t get any so he wouldn’t get _fat_. Not that he’d minded, he was much too busy sobbing over the bloody initials.

He’s been wracking his brain since Gendry’s call but absolutely nothing useful emerges. For a moment Theon has toyed with getting them a baby cat or two, but then Cersei would probably eat them. It’s not as if the boys are replaceable anyway.

What Jon really needs is a bit of colour in his wardrobe. Aside from the scrubs there’s black, dark grey, light grey, and - for days Jon feels really adventurous - a dark brown.

Maybe a yellow sweater, Theon thinks. He remembers how nice it had looked back then, but nowadays he can rather see Jon in a garter belt than a sunflower coloured item of clothing.

Gendry isn’t any help. When asked what he had given Jon for his last birthday he’d started stammering and hung up suspiciously quick. Theon knows he’s been together with his fiancé already at that time, so what could it have been to make Gendry so nervous?

Maybe they have a pact or something, Gendry and Podrick. Like, yes you may shove your tongue down your ex’ throat everytime you see them, oh and on their birthday you can shag them silly? Well, certainly not _this_ year, Theon thinks sourly.

When Jon goes to work Theon pretends to be completely engrossed in a thick book about a sea battle some thousand years ago, but as soon as Jon’s out he takes his laptop and starts googling.

Except for nothing he finds absolutely nothing. In the end he’s rather desperate, landing on a site that sells fun and gag gifts. For a moment Theon stares at a pair of fluffy dragon house shoes - no, better not. Jon would probably wear them just to fuck with him.

Then he googles cat pics, knowing how stupid this is - until he comes across a very nicely done pencil drawing of a cat.

Ten minutes later he’s called a cab and is on his way to Gendry’s. Pod opens the door, Gendry’s at work but has told him what to do. Theon gets complimented into a comfy looking armchair while Podrick is sitting on the carpet, rummaging around in a large box full of pics.

At first Theon doesn’t say much, but Pod’s attempts at polite conversations are really kind of sweet and he feels himself warm to Bambi. After a while Theon decides they’re now acquainted enough.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, Podrick.” Theon waits for Pod to nod encouragingly. “Are you really good with how Gendry and Jon…”

“Oh, I know what you mean. At first I was uncomfortable about it, but Gen is just an affectionate guy. I don’t care nowadays. He’s together with me.”

Now that they’re already being so wonderfully honest with each other…

“What was it Gendry gave Jon for his last birthday? He got all nervous and stuttering.”

To Theon’s surprise Pod smirks widely.

“Ah, yes. Well - I gather Jon got rid of it when he brought you into his flat. You strike me as the snooping type.”

He’s saying it completely casual, as if it were an everyday occurance to go and give your ex a _fucking dildo_ , because of course that’s what it was.

Theon blinks. That’s a lot better than a birthday shag at least. Now Pod is looking up at him with an innocent smile.

“Why, do you want one too? I always imagined Jon would be able to satisfy a man.”

Theon can just prevent himself from nodding. Definitely, one hundred percent satisfied as it is. Pod is watching him for a moment, clearly amused, before digging back into the box. With a shout of triumph he holds up a couple of pics.

“There we go, found them!” He shoots Theon a consoling glance. “I wouldn’t worry about Gen and the kissing. He knows I’ll break his neck if he ever goes too far.”

The last bit is said in a friendly, affectionate tone, but the look in Pod’s eyes - Theon thinks he wouldn’t want to get on Bambi’s wrong side either.

His next way takes him to an apartment block on the other side of the city. He waits downstairs for the girl he’s talked with on the phone. When she arrives - with her bodyguard or something like this, the guy is _huge_ \- she seems relieved.

After all it’s really only Theon with a couple of pics, and not the party of assassins she’s obviously been expecting. They quickly come to an agreement and Theon promises to pick the finished goods up in two days.

He watches her silver hair swinging as she returns into the building. The bodyguard turns around and glares impressively. What on earth is wrong with this girl and her paranoia?

Theon decides he doesn’t care, as long as she delivers. He’s back on time and the game is played again. This time there’s another guy with her, an older man who looks at her adoringly. Theon blinks.

“Hey, I know you!”

The guy looks vaguely alarmed while the girl rolls her eyes. Theon starts grinning.

“You’re Stoneskin, right? Didn’t Ice kick you out of the club because you broke the rules or something?”

Stoneskin mumbles something incomprehensible. The girl smiles.

“You don’t look like you’re in the scene. What’s your name?”

“Thanks,” Theon mutters, miffed. One of these days he’s _definitely_ going to join a gym. “I’m not a fighter, but I’m…” Oh what the hell. “I’m living with one at the moment. The Black Dread?”

How proud it makes him to say that… maybe he should get a tee.

_I’m getting fucked by The Black Dread, HAHA!_

The girl’s reaction to this is surprisingly severe. She surges forward and grabs his arm.

“Jon? You’re living with Jon?” She looks at the large envelope in Theon’s hand and presses her fist against her mouth. “They’re for Jon,” she mumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany was a lot of fun to write here. And poor J-Bear. I like Jorah, I really do!!!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Daenerys is a well-known person it seems.

Ten minutes later Theon is sitting at a kitchen table, opposite the girl. Stoneskin is hovering behind her chair. She smiles at him.

“Would you please make us some tea, Jorah? Thank you.”

Stoneskin bows and mumbles something that has Theon stare at the girl in shock.

“Khaleesi?”

She smiles. Theon swallows. He’s sitting at a kitchen table, drinking tea with Daenerys Targaryen. The mobster queen Khaleesi. The arsonist. The serial killer. The most dangerous woman Westeros has ever seen.

“You’re…” Theon gulps. “You’re drawing cat pics now.”

“Oh, all animals really. Except horses. If I never see another horse again in my life it’s still too soon.” After this ominous comment she smiles again, a sweet smile. Theon shivers. “And what is your name? You haven’t told me.”

“Theon. Greyjoy.”

“Oops! Sorry about your uncle then. I heard they had to amputate his tongue because it was infected after a fight.” She sips from her tea. “I’ve sent flowers.” Then she giggles. “I guess he should get a new name now. Well - silence is golden, especially in Euron’s case.”

“Ah,” Theon mutters, slightly disturbed. Of course Euron would be affiliated to the mob somehow. He doesn’t know what’s so funny about Euron losing his tongue, but he sure as hell won’t ask. Besides...

“But you’re not - I mean, I’ve heard…”

“Yes, I’ve given it up. I’m thinking of it as retirement.” Daenerys raises an eyebrow. “Stop fretting. I would never hurt Jon’s… flatmate?”

“Kinda,” Theon says weakly. “Jon has never mentioned you, how do you know him?”

“Oh look at that. Not _just_ a flatmate. No need to be jealous, Theon Greyjoy. I am his aunt.”

Theon has no idea how he’s looking but Daenerys laughs.

“Oh dear. You didn’t know? Rhaegar - The Dragon - was my brother. I hadn’t known about Jon, I was living abroad at the time. When I found out about him we were already adults.” She sighs wistfully. “I wanted to get to know him, but he wouldn’t have any of it.”

Theon stares at her, still shell shocked. Daenerys waves for some more tea and leans back.

“Said, thank you but no thank you, and that he already has a family and doesn’t want anything to do with me or my business.”

Slowly Theon nods. That sounds like Jon.   
Daenerys’ smile wavers.

“He’s the only family I have left. It hurts that he’s so stubborn.” She indicates the envelope lying in front of Theon. “Any special occasion or is that just a little lover’s gift?”

Theon flinches slightly at that. “Birthday, tomorrow,” he says.

“Oh nice! Will you have a party?”

“Just drinks in the club.” Theon eyes her suspiciously. “Why, you wanna come?”

“I’d _love_ to! It’s so kind of you to invite me!” Daenerys lights a cigarette, completely misunderstanding Theon’s horrified look. “Oh, I know. Unhealthy, blablabla.” She looks at the cigarette and smiles. “Since I’m not going around setting people on fire anymore… just look at it as replacement therapy.”

“Does that mean you just thought about setting me on fire?” Theon asks, alarmed.

“What?” Daenerys waves her hand dismissively. “Well - yes. Nothing personal. I want to set everyone on fire, it’s a reflex, really.” She laughs, then gives him a condescending look. “I won’t.”

“That,” Theon mumbles, “is good to hear.”

Daenerys winks and stubs her cigarette out in an ashtray Stoneskin has produced from somewhere.

“Let’s talk about that party.”

 _Jon is so going to kill me_ , Theon thinks, resigned.

  
Well - Jon’s look when Daenerys strides into the club, flanked by the tall dude and another one with an arrogant grin and blue hair, is rather disturbing. His face takes on such a murderous expression people start to back away from him.

Daenerys walks right up to him, ignoring the murmur that’s risen in the room, and holds out a large package.

“Happy Birthday, nephew.”

When Jon makes no move to take it she sighs, shoving it at Gendry standing at Jon’s side. With a huge smile she then turns to Theon on Jon’s other side, and to Theon’s horror she hugs him lightly.

“Theon, how lovely to see you again. Thank you very much for inviting me.”

Theon doesn’t look over, but the sounds to his side make him think of a volcano about to erupt. _Lady_ , he thinks, _you might as well have set me on fire_.

Jon decidedly ignores Theon for the rest of the night. He isn’t quite able to ignore Daenerys though, and at a later hour Theon sees them walking out, leaving her bodyguards behind.

The blue-haired one’s name is Daario and he’s already made friends with half the club by now. The other one doesn’t speak much, only ever saying no to anything he’s offered. Maybe a foreigner.

Jon comes back alone and nods at Daario and his companion before disappearing. They leave in a haste and Theon is still busy looking after them when a strong hand clasps his neck out of nowhere, and squeezes quite hard.

“We’re going home too now,” Jon’s voice growls in his ear. “You have some explaining to do.”

Torn between panic and arousal Theon lets Jon drag him out and upstairs with a last sheepish wave in Gendry and Podrick’s direction. Outside a cab is already waiting for them and Jon shoves Theon in.

The moment the doors are closed Jon opens his fly. Theon stares at him, then at his lap.

“Ah?”

“My birthday,” Jon says as a way of explanation and promptly Theon is pushed down onto Jon’s dick.

For a moment he ponders if he should just bite him, but then Jon’s hand is in his hair and his fingers are dragging over Theon’s scalp and, well, he’s _there_. Theon opens his mouth and is rewarded with such a low, “Good boy”, he’s rapidly getting an issue with his pants.

Jon must’ve instructed the driver beforehand, Theon is sure the drive to Jon’s flat doesn’t take this long normally. And Jon wants it slow this time, agonizingly so. Theon gives his best, but it takes his own low moan to shatter Jon’s control and has him spilling down Theon’s throat with a hitched “Fuck!”.

The moment he’s done packing himself away the car stops, the door is open and Jon’s hand is back on Theon’s neck, dragging him out into the cool night air.

They don’t speak as they’re climbing the stairs. Theon can hardly walk, his dick nearly hurting now, straining against his tight pants.

Jon doesn’t even bother with going to the bedroom, he pulls Theon into the kitchen and bends him over the table. _If that’s my punishment_ , Theon thinks dizzily as his pants are pulled down with a jolt, _I’m going to be very naughty from now on._

Theon waits for Jon’s fingers, Jon’s dick, but for an entirely too long while nothing happens at all. He can hear Jon breathing behind him, fast and flat, but he’s not touching him. _Why is he not touching him?_

“Good gods…” Jon finally murmurs, voice huskier than ever. “I want to… want to…”

He never tells Theon what it is he wants. Instead he drops to his knees and uses his mouth in a way that has Theon grip the table so hard he nearly breaks his hands.

It’s a good thing the walls of this place are thick and sturdy, otherwise Theon is sure someone would’ve called the police before Jon is done with him, has sent him to the edge of madness again and again.

He’s glad Jon doesn’t move them to bed, he’s not sure his feet could carry him now. Every inch of Theon craves him, his touch, his mouth, the gasp he cries out when he drives into him at last almost sounding like pain rather than pleasure.

It has to be both, judging from the way he collapses over Theon after barely a dozen hard thrusts. It doesn’t matter, Theon has come the second Jon had been in him, staining the table beneath him.

 _I’m so going to write Daenerys a Thank-You-card_ , Theon thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: an epiphany and so much idiocy it's astonishing, really.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. *ducks*

“Explain,” Jon says a while later when they’ve finally made it to the couch. His voice is still wavering, his eyes half closed.

“You wouldn’t believe it anyways. She told you she’s… retired?” Theon has his head in Jon’s lap, looking up at him.

“Yeah. Hard to believe, but it seems to be true.”

“Well, she has a new job. Hobby. Whatever. I swear I didn’t know it was her, I just called that lady for your gift-” Theon starts up. “Oh, your gift!”

He scrambles to his wobbly feet and taps into the hall to get the envelope out of his jacket. With it he goes back and lays it carefully in Jon’s lap.

“Here you go. Happy Birthday.”

Theon doesn’t quite hold his breath while Jon opens it, but he feels a little tense. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe it’s too painful. Maybe - maybe tears are starting to form in Jon’s eyes as he regards the drawings.

Jaime and Tyrion, a single portrait for each of them, and one with all three kitties together. It looks just like them, even with Tyrion’s little tongue poking out, Jaime’s paw over Cersei’s back, Cersei’s ears flattened as she looks at Gendry, who’s taken the pic Daenerys has drawn after.

Jon’s fingers are stroking the paper, much like he’d stroke the boys, soft and gentle. Theon can’t bear it any second longer. He moves to straddle Jon’s hips and tilts his chin up for a long kiss.

“Thank you,” Jon says when they break apart. “That’s… wonderful. I love them.” His arms wind around Theon and Jon presses his face tightly against Theon’s chest, murmuring against his skin.

“I love you.”

Theon smiles, this feels so warm, so comfortable. He lays his cheek on top of Jon’s head and closes his eyes.

“Hey. I lo-”

His breath comes out in a shaky gush when the words he’s been about to say get stuck in his throat. Theon’s hand wanders to his mouth, a desperate attempt to keep them trapped inside. No. _Fucking no_.

“So,” Theon finally says as he clambers down from Jon’s lap, trying to sound nonchalant. “Apparently Daenerys Targaryen aka Khaleesi aka mobster queen is drawing animal portraits now. And quite good ones, don’t you think?”

His own voice is ringing in his ears, shrill, loud, bordering on hysterical. He has to do something, anything, to make the moment pass, to find his feet again.

Jon is staring at him, eyes wide, when Theon drags him up and tows him into the bedroom. And for a moment it works, when he’s sucking at Jon’s neck, when he keeps dragging his dick over Jon’s firm thigh, when he comes to lay on his stomach and feels Jon’s weight above him.

It stops working when Jon is moving in him, when Jon’s tongue is drawing wet circles on his shoulders and neck, when Jon whispers those dreadful words over and over again. Theon bites down hard on his hand, nearly shoves his whole fist in his mouth to stop it.

The words still threaten to spill out, he can taste them in his mouth, on his tongue, his whole body trembling with the effort to win this battle against himself. It’s hopeless.

The moment Theon's release washes over him, the moment Jon tenses above him, fills him with so much warmth, the moment Theon turns to looks into Jon’s dark eyes, that moment the fight is lost.

“I love you. Jon. Fuck you. Fuck you to every hell there is. I love you.”

  
In the morning Theon leaves.

Jon silently watches him pack the few things he’s taking with him, the quilt, his laptop. When Jon goes out for a moment he steals one of his shirts. A souvenir. How silly. In the last moment he remembers the spare keys. He leaves them on the bedside table.

Jon follows him quietly when Theon walks to the door. Tentatively he raises a hand, a weak parody of a goodbye wave. With a thump Theon’s bag hits the floor, Jon is in his arms and Theon’s mouth is on his. He breathes him in, tries to burn his scent, his taste, into his memory.

“Stay,” Jon says, hopeless, already knowing the answer

“It’s better that way,” Theon mumbles into Jon’s hair. “I’m not… I’d fuck up, sooner or later. I’d hurt you.”

“It hurts now.”

“It’d be worse.” Theon moves back a little to stroke a strand of hair behind Jon’s ear, the soft, silky feeling agony now. “I’m not made for this. I have to go.”

“I need you.”

With a groan Theon wraps his arms around Jon, pulling him as close as he can.

“Just tell me to fuck off. Tell me to leave, tell me it’s over. Be angry, throw things at me. Tell me I’m the worst fucking thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“What’s the point,” Jon mutters against Theon’s neck. “What’s the point in that? It’d be a lie.”

Theon pulls back. Jon’s eyes are clouded but he’s not crying yet.

“Don’t,” Theon murmurs. “I don’t have anything to make you stop crying today as well.”

Jon looks up at him with a frown.

“What?”

“You have my number. If you ever need anything, or want to talk, or maybe feel like a good shag… just give me a call.”

It’s a low joke. Theon knows Jon will never call.

A soft meow holds him back. Without thinking Theon bends down and scoops Cersei up in his arms.

“Gonna miss you, kitty. Very much. But you’ll forget me soon enough, okay? I love you, kitty. I’m sorry.”

He’s looking at Jon as he talks, his words as much for him as for the cat. With a sigh Theon sets her down again. His hand on the door he turns back one more time.

“Thank you for everything.”

Jon’s answer follows him outside.

“It was not enough.”

  
Asha opens the door for him. Thankfully, she doesn’t comment on the bag, or the look he’s sure he has on his face. Only later when he’s staring at the TV, unseeing, she comes to stand in the doorway.

“You are a fucking coward.”

Theon doesn’t look at her.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pleeaase don't hate Theon!!! Or me. Or the chapter. Or the story.
> 
> For the overkill: Do you know the song Call Me by Shinedown? There's this lovely video on youtube with scenes of Richard Madden from Sirens. But if you listen to the song without Madden it's actually a Theon/Jon breakup hymn. *bawls*


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really REALLY liked writing Dany here. She makes a good godmother XD

Theon is glad he doesn’t have any friends who would be saying stuff like, time will heal, or, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. He’d be convicted for homicide by now.

It’s funny how fast one can fall back into old patterns. Drinking, partying, smoking, fucking random girls in filthy club bathrooms, crawling into bed stinking of stale alcohol and perfume, sleeping till noon.

All of this is familiar, all of it disgusting. He’s fallen back in with his acquaintances from before, neither of them asking where he’s been. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed his absence.

Asha is still trying to find out about mother, talking to Howland Reed every day. So far no luck. Until one day Theon gets a visit. He’s dragged himself to open the door, hungover and in a foul mood. This quickly changes when he opens the door to Daenerys Targaryen.

She regards him with a disdainful look before walking past him into his apartment. Stoneskin, who’s with her, waits in the hall while she makes herself comfortable in Theon’s favourite chair. Her icy look doesn’t bode well.

“I’m not even going to ask what went down between you and Jon.”

“Have you seen him?” Theon asks, greedy for news. “How is he?”

“Yes, I’ve seen him. We had a little talk at that party and it seems he’s come around to me.” Her voice is hard. “He’s holding up. Not that he’s saying anything, but…” She sighs. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?” Theon asks.

She lights a cigarette.

“You helped me get in touch with Jon. I owe you a favour. Now I heard you’ve lost something.”

His mind and the best fucking thing he ever had. But that’s not what he thinks she means.

“My mother.”

“Exactly. Now I’m going to tell you something and you’ll listen closely, yes?”

Theon nods.

“She’s going to be brought here in a week. You don’t ask any questions, understood? About the why and how.”

When Theon keeps silent she smiles briefly.

“I see you understand. Now for the important part. I talked to Howland, funny little man. To officially be your mother’s guardian you need to have a regular income, right?”

Again, Theon nods silently.

“Or be really rich.”

“I am fucking rich. Or will be once I tried and failed to fulfill my father’s stupid will.”

“Not rich enough, I fear.” Daenerys almost looks sympathetic. “I suggest you publish your story and get it over with. Win this bloody thing.”

“I don’t have a story big enough for that.”

When Daenerys doesn’t answer, Theon looks at her. She’s smiling.

“Oh, I think you do.”

The shock when he understands what she’s talking about nearly sends him to his feet.

“You can’t mean - I can’t betray them! Not… Jon’s family. Not _Jon_.”

“It’s not your family though. You have to think about your dear mother.” Daenerys’ eyes are cold. “But yes. It would be the worst betrayal imaginable. To Jon. To them.”

“That would mean… there would… I could never…”

“No, you could never go back.” Daenerys leans forward. “You would burn your bridges. Tell me, Theon…” Her eyes, a deep violet, turn darker. “Did you intend on going back?”

Theon looks aside. Every day, he wants to say. Every fucking minute of every fucking hour of every fucking day. But that’s clearly not what she wants to hear.

“No,” he says.

She laughs, silver bells chiming. It makes every single hair on Theon’s neck stand on end.

“I’m not going to pretend I want you to. Jon needs me now. A shoulder to lean on. Someone to hold his hand when he weeps for his lost love.”

“You want him.” Theon stares at her, cold sweat running down his back. “You fucking want him.”

She smiles, lights another cigarette. Theon feels queasy. Cousin or aunt, he’d said to Jaime, that’d be okay. Turns out it’s not okay, not where it concerns Jon.

Does Jon want her? She laughs.

“I don’t _want_ want him, silly. But. He’s my family and you hurt him. I let no one hurt my family. And this would mean you’d never get to lay eyes on Jon again. You’ll never be able to hurt Jon again.” Daenerys sighs and pretends to look at an imaginary watch. “Well, I have places to be.” She gets up. “You decide. Your mother - or the Starks.”

“She’s my mother.” Theon feels sick. “I can’t fail her. She needs me.”

“A wise decision. Honestly, I didn’t believe him when he told me you’ll do it.” She turns to leave. “One week, Theon.”

He writes to him. He owes him that much. A short text.

_I chose my mother. I’m sorry._

Jon doesn’t write back.

One week. Theon gets to work. It’s surprising how easy the writing itself feels. The words are flowing faster than he can get them down. All the little details, all the dirty laundry he picked up on in between.

When it’s done, six thousand words, every single one a knife in the back of someone so important to him, he’s sick. The writing took him a day. Recovering from it takes two more.

On the second day he gets an answer.

_The Theon I’ve come to know would choose his mother. I understand. Don’t ever try to contact me again._

The bridges are burning. Theon walks straight into the fire.

He sends Daenerys the finished article an hour before giving another to print. When she doesn’t answer he knows he’s done for. The knock on the door late at night doesn’t surprise him. He betrayed the mobster queen, for Jon. If this means it’s over...

He answers the door with a heavy heart, ready to face whoever has come to finish him. Will it be Daario? Smiling as he shoots Theon in the head? Or the foreigner, just strangling him with one large hand? Or maybe just Stoneskin, glowering him to death. It doesn’t matter. He’d rather face all of Daenerys’ assassins at once than betray Jon.

A moment later everything he was so sure would happen crumbles to dust in the course of one moment, one look. He reaches out.

“Mother!”

She looks well, if a little confused.

“Are you the sneaky little rat?” She wrinkles her nose disapprovingly. “That’s not very nice. The puffing lady said I should give you this.”

She holds out a paper and Theon takes it, unfolds it.

_You won._

Beneath that, a burn hole. Maybe from a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow Jon POV!


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon can be stubborn as a mule.

The first days he spends wallowing on his own, going over their last night again and again in his head. If he really meant it, if he really loved him - why wouldn’t he stay?

At one of those early days, when he’s rejected all hands reaching out to him, his gaze falls on Daenerys’ gift, still wrapped, lying untouched in a corner of the bedroom.

Curiosity and the desperate wish to think of anything but Theon has him open it. A ridiculously expensive looking suit. Really, couldn’t she even pretend to know him?

When he goes to store it away he notices a paper in one of the pockets.

_This is your father’s. He wore it on his wedding day. I thought you should have it._

And a phone number. He balls the paper up angrily. Then unfolds it again, smoothing out the crinkles. He calls her two weeks later.

She’s not so bad, all in all. And she knows things about his father, many things, that Jon laps up greedily. It really feels like having a family of his own now.

He loves the Starks, all of them, but this is something else. Something that really belongs to him, where he’s not the odd one out.

He tells her everything. And she’s a good listener, always there for him, never interrupting, never condescending. She asks him if he’s still waiting for Theon to come around. Of course he is.

That’s when she tells him of what she could do for Theon, if he chooses to get a story out. She laughs, she always laughs, and says she’ll give him a choice. His mother or Jon. Jon snorts and tells her Theon would never fail his mother.

He gets a text. Theon has chosen his mother, as Jon knew he would. But the sense of betrayal is strong, nearly killing him. Daenerys had said the article will come out in a week.

The night before he’s anxious. He’s warned them, his uncle, Gendry… Gendry didn’t believe him, why would he do that, he asked. His face, when he finally believed it, has shown the same sense of betrayal. He’d considered Theon his friend.

Ned is quiet, waiting for the explosion. Howland has already started working on a defense, just in case. Robb looks at Jon with such a smug I told you so look, Jon has trouble not to punch him.

He holes himself up before the article comes out. He’ll lose his job, that much is sure. Maybe they’ll still want him in White Harbour, Nurse Tyrell doesn’t strike him as someone who gives a shit about anything but his work abilities.

Start over there. It’s not far, but a whole other world. Get a little house on the seaside. The club will be closed, now that he’s remembered how good it was. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing worth fighting for anymore.

A day passes. Nothing happens. Jon can’t bring himself to look it up, to see how his family has been dragged in the dirt. He hates Theon for it. Hates him so much it’s nearly killing him. Loves him regardless.

Gendry calls, Robb calls. They leave a dozen messages, write a dozen texts but Jon deletes everything without reading. Seeing it, hearing it, facing the betrayal would make it real.

In a fit he’s destroyed all the clothes Theon has left behind, has ripped them to shreds. The mirror is smashed, the painting faces the wall now. He can’t get rid of it.

When he doesn’t react to anything they start coming over. Robb, with Arya. They beg him to read the article. He throws them out. He can’t. Gendry brings the paper with him, slamming it on Jon’s desk.

“You really gotta read this, killer. Trust me.”

When Gendry’s gone he rips the paper, burns the shreds. The hospital hasn’t called yet. As far as they know he’s off sick, maybe they figured he won’t come back anyway.

Daenerys comes to visit him, too. She’s seething.

“You got yourself a clever little thing there. Got his mother back and the fucking newspapers have sold out in under a week. It’s only a matter of time until he’ll come here. I should’ve just blown his light out. I’ve gone soft. Have forgotten my ass is hanging in there as well.”

She sounds angry as fuck.

“Congratulations. Let him fuck you over again and again.” Daenerys sighs, her voice gentler now. “You’re my nephew. I want you to be happy. And if he can achieve that… You know where to find me, if you decide to have him flambeed after all.”

Jon doesn’t understand what she means, why Theon would come to him. He must know Jon will never speak to him again after what he did. It doesn’t matter, Theon doesn’t come.

It’s been nearly three weeks when Gendry and Robb visit him together. And finally the curiosity gets the better of Jon, the shame of not having cared, not having asked sooner.

“What happened?” he asks. “What’s with Ned, with you guys? What happened?”

They share a look Jon cannot read at all. Finally Robb takes something out of his jacket. Folded papers, that dreadful article again. Jon gets up.

“I don’t wanna read it, okay? Fuck off with it once and for all.”

Robb looks at Gendry and raises his eyebrows. Before Jon knows what’s up Gendry has moved, holding Jon’s hands behind his back in an iron grip.

“You listen now, killer.”

Robb clears his throat and starts to read.

“Fighting for survival. A story for people who never give up. Article by Theon Greyjoy.”

Jon is completely still. That doesn’t sound like… he has no idea what it sounds like. After a meaningful glance Robb goes on.

“When I was ten years old I met my first love. She - at least that’s what I thought back then - had gotten lost and was afraid and I did what I could to help. I stitched up her sweater where it had been torn, I gave her a gift and brought her back. I never thought I’d ever see her again.”

Gendry’s grip has loosened. Jon doesn’t move. His heart is beating fast. It’s impossible. Fucking impossible. That’d be the biggest coincidence ever. It can’t be true. It can’t. Jon’s mind wanders back to the day Theon had left.

_“I don’t have anything to make you stop crying today as well.”_

Gendry’s voice near his ear startles him. The words are soft, with only a hint of regret.

“Your fucking prince, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaaaa. 
> 
> The cat is out of the bag.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly there, guys. This is the last chapter except for the sappy happy-ever-after epilogue.
> 
> Wow.
> 
> Mix of Jon and Theon POV again.

The first part of the article is about Theon’s childhood, what happened to his brothers, about his father’s cruelty, about his uncle being the only one who seemed to at least care a little.

Who took him to _a club_ , Theon doesn’t specify here, and that this was where he met _the monster_ , when Theon had been in his early twenties. He doesn’t write any names, only calls Ramsay the monster.

The next part covers in exhausting detail the year he spent in the monster’s company. Robb pauses in his reading every couple of sentences, retching, his face white, despite having read it before.

Gendry has his forehead on Jon’s shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around his waist. He’s shaking, with rage? Horror? Jon only feels sick. He already knew a lot, but this…

Theon writes about how he got away, his self completely, utterly destroyed, with only hate left for himself. Hate and contempt. It got better, over time, but his life stayed as superficial as he could manage, allowing no one to come close.

“Until I met my first love again. Turns out it was a boy I rescued, not a girl. A boy I had later seen on many occasions, not knowing who he was, or that I met him before. And I wanted him so badly… I was scared to death. So I said to myself, shag him, dump him, the usual spiel. And the plan worked. I got him into bed with me.”

Robb clears his throat, giving Jon a reproachful glance, clearly holding back the I told you so that’s lingering on his tongue again. He continues reading.

“The plan worked. For about five minutes. What I never thought possible happened the moment his lips were on mine, his hands on my skin.”

Jon’s thoughts wander back to that first kiss. He would never have guessed then, how deep he was going to fall, how hard he was going to hit.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t realise, didn’t let myself realise. That he’s the one. I was a coward. I told him I loved him and then I left. I broke his heart that day.”

Jon closes his eyes. _Asshole_ , he thinks. _If you knew… why did you leave?_

The rest of the article consists of some scenes from their time together, the whole business with Theon’s mother, the cats, it’s all there, in glowing words, described with such a warmth...

“He made me feel wanted again, beautiful, good about myself. He didn’t make me stronger, but he made me realise how strong I already was, still myself after all that’s happened. He wasn’t some wizard waving his wand to make everything okay, but he loved me with a steadiness that made me able to really see myself, maybe for the first time. He took me in and accepted me, as I was, as I am. No conditions. And still it wasn’t enough.”

The last part reads like a love letter.

“I fought a lot of fights in my life, and lost. Against myself most of the time. Now there’s only one fight left to stand, and it’s the only one that counts. If it isn’t too late, if I haven’t lost you for good - I’m waiting for you. No matter how long it takes. I’ll fight for you. I still love you the same.”

Robb lets the article sink and looks at Jon, his blue eyes brimming with tears.

“Call him, Jon. Call him now.”

“No,” Jon says.

  
The days have turned into weeks and still Theon hasn’t heard from Jon. The legal stuff is behind him now, he’s officially CEO of Pyke Enterprises. Vic and Aeron have grudgingly congratulated him and he’s given them management positions, both getting a paycheck big enough to stop them from mutinying.

Euron is gone, has discharged himself and left, probably even left the country. At least for a while, Theon is pretty sure they haven’t seen the last of him.

Mother is back at the White Harbour Sanatorium. The time she was with him and Asha had been good, but heartbreaking. She’s talked a lot about the crazy, impolite men who took her away from her home and all that. She was feeling homesick.

So Theon, now her official guardian, brought her back. He visits, two to four times a week. They play children’s games, or talk when she’s up for it. And she teaches him how to knit. Sometimes there’s a moment of recognition, a motherly scold or a soft smile. These moments are worth waiting for.

Asha has left with the promise of checking in more frequently. She isn’t good at being around mother. The change hurts her too much. She couldn’t keep herself from lashing out, from getting too impatient when days went by without Alannys recognizing her.

Theon knows Jon has read the article, Gendry has called him. He also told him that Jon had been shocked to his very core. Angry. Angry with Theon for not telling him. Angry with himself for not realising.

There’s one thing left to try. When Jon won’t come to him, he will go to Jon. Theon has been a coward for a long time, maybe all his life. But now he needs to be brave. Needs all his courage for what he’s about to do.

He’s shaking when he finally arrives at the gate of the snow white villa. The intercom buzzes and a camera slowly takes him into view. A squawking voice has him flinch.

“How can I help you, Sir?”

“I’d like to talk to Str - Robb. Robb Stark.” Theon swallows. “This is Theon Greyjoy.”

After a moment of silence the intercom crackles.

“Mr. Stark will be with you in a moment. If you please wait at the backside of the house?”

The gate swings open slowly and Theon walks in, following the path around the house. Robb is already there, watching his approach with a strange expression. Then Robb moves very quickly and to Theon's shock he's suddenly enveloped in a rib-crushing bear hug. 

“What are you doing here?” Robb sniffles once he's stopped squishing Theon to mush.

“Fulfilling a wish of yours.” Theon takes a deep breath. “Hit me.”

  
He’s waiting on the steps in front of Jon’s flat. Jon stops. Theon has his head down, his hair a little too long, hanging in his face. For a moment Jon considers just walking past, boiling with anger. What took him so long? He should’ve come sooner. Theon lifts his head.

His face… He’s bleeding, nose or mouth or both, it’s hard to say. He looks like something from a horror movie. But then he smiles, smiles his familiar, wide smile, and Jon's heart beats for the first time since the day Theon left. Jon sighs.

“You better won’t make one single peep when I’m dowsing you in iodine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? I'm curious, about your thoughts on their actions and all that.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what - I'm posting the final chapter now before going to bed. Maybe have a lie-in tomorrow. 
> 
> Can you believe it's over?

“You’re cheating on me.” Jon narrows his eyes, looking disturbingly dangerous. “I can’t let that happen. I’m very sorry, but… I have to send you home.”

Theon rolls his eyes.

“Aw, man! Let it slide, she’s winning anyways, no matter what we do.”

Jon shakes his head.

“Rules are rules.” He holds out his hand. “Come on, Lanny. Give me the dice.”

Alannys smiles, dropping the dice into Jon’s outstretched hand.

“Here you go, dear.”

Her gaze unfocusses slightly and Jon puts the dice on the ludo board. Theon watches him as he checks Alannys has everything she needs, watches as he bends down and kisses her cheek.

“We’ll be back in two days, okay?”

She hums lightly, not answering, but when Theon goes to kiss her in turn she tilts her head.

“Will you come back too? I like having you around. You remind me of my little boy.”

Jon is waiting for him in the door, that tender smile on his face he reserves for moments like this, when Theon’s soft side gets the better of him. Nothing to be embarrassed about, Theon reminds himself as he hugs his mother, lingering for a moment before promising to be back soon.

Jon has seen him cry his eyes out over a silly christmas ad on TV, has endured Theon having a very serious case of man flu, has caught him trying to write a ridiculous love poem when he was drunk once, has listened to him sing along to the radio -

In sum there’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about around Jon anymore. Not even the rush of affection he feels when Jon takes his hand, something he used to sneer about, not the need to tell him how much he loves him a hundred times a day, not the pure joy at Jon’s words, always the same.

“Let’s go home.”

Home these days is a nice little house not far from the clinic, with sea view of course, something Theon insisted on. As he insisted on Jon not having to work regularly at the clinic. He still is over there almost every day, helping out for free.

The news empire is still going strong, Vic might be as thick as a tree, but together with Aeron he makes a surprisingly good manager. Theon has taken to writing, articles, little stories.

It’s very convenient when you don’t have to go begging the papers to publish your stuff because you own the papers. Every couple of weeks Theon checks in with them, if only to renew the devil’s horns Asha has drawn on Balon’s portrait as part of her deal with Vic. One time Theon has even caught Aeron doing the same.

  
Cersei is waiting for Theon at the window, as usual. When Jon wants to pet her she growls and he sighs.

“My own cat doesn’t like me, what does that say about me?”

“Nothing about you,” Theon says as he picks her up, “but a lot about the cat.”

She purrs against his chest while shooting Jon vitriolic glances. Theon laughs at Jon’s dour face.

“Hey, but I like you. Actually, I love you.”

“That I’ve heard,” Jon mutters, not quite able to hide an amused smile at that.

Three years and Jon’s still not used to it, to Theon being so vocal, so open about this. Theon finds it hilarious, it only spurs him on to say it more and more, mostly to see Jon’s cheeks flush red. It’s basically become a sport, making Jon blush.

What he likes a lot is when Jon has had a fight and looks all bloody and dangerous and people are gaping at him in awe - always the winner - but the moment Theon gets his hands on him all of The Black Dread melts away and leaves nothing but a flustered Jon.

He’s blushing right now again, very much so, when Theon practically drags him into the bedroom, pushes him down onto the covers and straddles his hips.

“Anything the matter?” Jon asks, trying to sound grumpy despite his red cheeks. “Am I not giving you enough attention?”

“Never,” Theon smirks while making short work of his clothes, then Jon’s. “You have an appointment tonight.”

“And you decided to wear me out,” Jon remarks dryly. “Not that I’m not sure I’ll win, but she _is_ two heads taller than me.”

“I’m looking forward to this fight very much,” Theon says, bending down to nibble at Jon’s collarbone. “I like her and if I send you to the ring really fucked out Brienne might stand a chance to kick your ass.”

“If you say so,” Jon manages to get out between his moans as Theon bites down onto his hip. “I’ll make sure… fuck… to give you a good show.”

“Just try not to let her hit your face, okay?” Theon skids a little lower, grinning up at Jon from between his thighs. “Gen will not be happy if you look like a thug in his wedding pics. But I gotta tell you, if he doesn’t stop calling me Prince Theon I shall hit him. On his bloody wedding day.”

“I’ll bring popcorn. I’ll… Theon, I swear… I’ll try to remember about the pics.”

Jon sounds breathless and Theon would smile in triumph if his mouth weren’t occupied otherwise. For a few moments Jon relaxes under him, but soon he growls, impatient.

“I thought you wanted me to be fucked out?”

“Yeah.” Theon crawls up to kiss him, then rolls onto his side, lazily drawing circles around Jon’s hard nipples. “So?”

With one quick move Jon pins him to the bed, pressing his body tightly against Theon’s.

“In this case,” he mumbles, “you ought to fuck _me_ , baby. Fuck me so hard my legs are shaking when I enter the ring later. Fuck me so good I won’t be able to think of anything else but your dick all night.”

Theon swallows, still baffled everytime Jon turns into that other, much more talkative person. But, as always, he’s more than happy to comply.

  
“Theon?” Jon is still out of breath, chest still heaving with the aftershocks of his third orgasm. “Will you really cheer on Brienne later?”

“I will for sure everytime Arya is looking in my direction. She’s grown pretty fond of her coach.”

Theon drags his tongue across the lines of the dragon, eliciting a groan out of Jon.

“No way! _Again?_ ”

“We have one more hour before we have to go, right?”

“That,” Jon sighs as he turns to wrap his arms around Theon’s neck, spreading his thighs, “is gonna be a fucking uncomfortable two-hour-drive.”

“Hey,” Theon kisses him softly, Jon’s lips already swollen from hours of Theon sucking, licking, biting them. “I’ll cheer on you. I always do. Because…”

“Let me guess-” Jon gasps as Theon slides into him with ease. “Because you love me?”

“Spot on, sweetie. Because I love you so fucking much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin. Omg.
> 
> A huuuuge thank you to @Quicksilvermaid for letting me run everything I've written by her, encouraging me aaaall the time! Luv ya!!!
> 
> Also thank you to all of you who read and liked and commented and have followed this fic until today. 
> 
> I am REALLY gonna miss it.  
> I've got some one-shots and short things ready to post - gonna swamp the world with greysnow!!! *subtly advertising*
> 
> :)


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